Breaking Point
by LivEinziger
Summary: Olivia and Elliot's partnership is threatened after an impulsive act in a night out with the team, but she will need him more than ever when SVU gets involved in the investigation of a series of murders and what looked like just another tough case starts to get way too personal. This story takes place somewhere in the second half of Season 10. EO.
1. Bittersweet

1 - BITTERSWEET

_The heavy sound of the door woke me, and before I saw the blinking fluorescent light, I felt my head pounding, reminding me of every insult, every tear, every ugly truth thrown at my face, every physical and mental injury inflicted. I could feel my eyes were swollen, and that made it more difficult to adapt to the light, even though it wasn't very bright. I didn't make much of an effort though, because I already knew who had opened and closed the door and whose steps now approached me slowly._

_Except that I was wrong. It was someone else._

"_Olivia," said the low-pitched, familiar voice, and I raised my head so fast that I was dizzy for a moment._

"_Elliot!" I breathed, relieved. _

_I had started to doubt that help would ever come, but even though in my fantasies I saw several officers raiding the place, the EMTs rushing to my rescue, some shouting and shuffling and shooting and rights being read, it was always him that I envisioned rushing to me, kneeling to level with me on my dirty mattress, cupping my face with his hands and telling me everything would be all right, showing me that he cared, despite what had been repeated to me over and over again._

_So, even though there were no officers, no shouting, no shooting and no EMTs, and even though he wasn't rushing to me, kneeling down to cup my face and tell me everything would be all right, seeing him here meant that I was safe, that I was rescued. Or at least so I thought._

_He stopped walking, looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite recognize. It was most definitely not relief to see me alive. It looked like a pained frown, but with visible effort to show composure and some weird dismissive emotion – contempt? His eyes were darkened, and for a moment I thought I saw a glint from a tear forming, but I couldn't be sure, as it didn't match the rest of his demeanor. He was also in no rush whatsoever: no rush to check on my injuries, no rush to reassure me, no rush to take me away from here. I tried to ignore it all and label it as shock._

"_How did you find me?" I asked, trying to move him from that unknown stupor, trying to rush him to the emergency at hand. I also gathered all the energy I had left to slowly pull myself up to an almost standing position. "Did you get him? Did you guys arrest him?" I threw a glance at the two-way mirror, where I knew he had been watching me from. Someone ought to have gone there and subdued him somehow, otherwise Elliot wouldn't have been able to make it here. _

_He took a step in my direction, and I held out my hand to him, pleading with my eyes for him to take it, longing for the rescue contact, the safety reassurance. It never came._

"_Olivia, I'm not here to take you home," he said, furrowing his brow and making his expression even more unreadable than before. I dropped my hand, trying to figure out if I had heard him right._

_Elliot took another step, and then blinked his eyes several times, like someone who is bracing themselves before an impact or explosion of some kind. But then his arm swung, fast, and in the next second his fist was connecting with my jaw, the impact or explosion I would never have braced myself for. I fell to the floor with the force of the blow, taking my hand to my face, but even before I was able to register the physical pain, and the blood and the instant swelling, I was hit with the pain of the betrayal, the disappointment, the confirmation of my worst fears._

_I raised my head to look at him, and I couldn't even get his name out; I couldn't utter any words at all. I felt a tear not roll down, but take a plunge, as if my eye had been squeezed like a fruit, but shock soon took over as I saw him getting a gun out from the hem of his jeans. His eyes seemed to be purposefully avoiding me, but they turned in my direction when he squatted to finally level with me, but, at this point, I was no longer expecting the rescue, the reassurance. _

_I didn't know what to expect from this man I had been so sure I knew like the back of my hand, but who had just punched me to the floor and was now holding a gun that he might use on me. In that moment, I was okay with it: if he were to kill me, at least this nightmare would end. If living meant facing a reality in which the only person whose love and loyalty had never failed me would be capable of ending my life, then I was willing to give up on it. _

_I had been facing away with my eyes shut, now bracing myself for anything, but I decided to look at him. Maybe it was hope that I might see a clue there, something that told me why this was happening, but I didn't have any time to analyze._

"_Good night," he said, his arm swinging once again but this time with the butt of the gun aimed at my head._

_And then it was lights out._

* * *

"So, where are we having drinks tonight?" Detective Fin Tutuola said, standing up. "I'm finally done with paperwork, I think I've earned it."

"You, done with paperwork?" scoffed John Munch. "For me it's reason enough to celebrate."

Olivia laughed at her colleagues' banter and threw a glance at Elliot, who was already looking at her with a smile and, raising an eyebrow, he communicated that he was willing to go for that drink. With a nod, she replied that she would go as well.

"Just for you, Fin," she said, putting the cap back into her pen and putting it away. "I'll make this small sacrifice. Just to make you happy."

"That's what I call teamwork," Munch said, standing up. "What about you, Elliot, don't you have to be home for diaper duty?"

"Yes," Elliot replied, putting on his suit jacket. "That's why I'm coming."

He exchanged a look with Olivia as she put on her jacket. She warily returned his smile, quickly looking away. She had noticed that Elliot had been putting off going home lately, and he seemed to consider her his partner in crime for finding excuses to do so. Anything would do; interviewing suspects after hours, volunteering for stakeouts and also the occasional drink with the team, like tonight. As much as she liked that unspoken bond with him, she knew she had to be careful.

Complicated seemed like an understatement to describe Olivia Benson's relationship with her NYPD partner, Elliot Stabler. Soon after she had joined the Manhattan Special Victims Unit, almost ten years earlier, they'd developed a partnership built on trust and respect, not only in the field but also as friends. She'd met his wife, Kathy, and their four children, he knew the story of her life and why she had become a detective, including how being the product of her mother's rape had driven her to work with sex crimes. Also, they trusted each other with their lives. The lighthearted yet dependable relationship they had in the beginning was a welcome relief to the horrible things they had to deal with every day.

With time, however, something had shifted in their dynamic. While they would frequently disagree about cases before without any hard feelings involved, the smallest differences in opinion had started to become heated discussions that made them not talk to each other for days. Elliot had started having trouble dealing with the darkness brought on by cases, and sometimes Olivia would need to cover for him when he let his anger take over and rules got bent or broken. Their partnership still worked, as she would balance his temper with her sensibility, but while they still trusted each other implicitly, their relationship was no longer a relief to the horrors of the job, but almost another burden that came with it.

Not coincidentally with Elliot's anger issues, he and Kathy had broken up, causing even more tension in his relationship with Olivia, as many times he would seem to take his frustrations out on her. He'd also seemed to keep her at arm's length during that time, as though he was afraid they might be getting too close – which they were, something they had found out during a case in which they'd prioritized each other's lives over two children's. That had caused strain and even some time apart, but eventually, they had become partners again. Little by little, their relationship had been rebuilt, as both realized they wanted and needed to make it work.

After he and Kathy had gotten back together, Elliot had seemed less scared to get close to Olivia. It was almost as if his wedding ring created a force field that kept them at a safe distance from each other. His marriage was a safe, clear line between them that they knew they couldn't cross and could easily respect. When he had been separated, the absence of that line had made them unable to tell how far they could go, causing them to pull away from each other just in case. If Olivia had known Kathy was the secret to make their partnership work, she would have found a way to get them back together earlier.

That was actually a lie, she admitted to herself, taking a sip of her beer. She was sitting next to Elliot and across from Munch and Fin, and those thoughts about her and Elliot crossed her mind as she watched him lightheartedly cracking jokes, seeming to be at ease with himself and enjoying the company. She forced herself to think again that maybe Kathy was the balance he needed in his life, even though, with the help of the half pint she had already had, she was able to admit to herself that those conclusions actually hurt her.

Olivia couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when her feelings for Elliot had changed, but she had noticed over the years when the simple mention of Kathy and their married life had started to bother her, her level of concern for his life and well-being had surpassed what one would expect from a partner, and seeing him and being physically close to him had started sending shivers down her spine. When he'd told her that Kathy was pregnant and he was going back home, she'd felt her heart sink. Maybe that was the best for him, but she would be lying if she said that was what she would have wanted. She knew it wasn't.

_But then again, that's what you get when you fall in love with your partner_, she thought. And that is why she was so cautious around him these days, when he seemed to be using her more than ever as an excuse to stay away from home for as long as he could. She knew that she had already been cause for tension in his marriage, and she wanted to stay the hell away from it.

So it was bittersweet to be like this, sitting next to him, maybe a bit closer than she should, laughing at his jokes and bantering with him over beers. She knew they had a special connection, and she knew it might have even been close to becoming something more at one point, but the cold, hard truth was that he was married and would soon get up from that table, announcing he was going home, breaking yet another small piece of her heart as he did every single night when he left.

That's why she decided to be the one to leave first. "Okay, boys," she announced after snatching the last sip of her beer. "I'm calling it a night."

Fin and Munch had also finished their drinks and, after she spoke, they also decided it was time to go.

"There will be more finished paperwork to celebrate tomorrow if I stop drinking now," Munch said jokingly, standing up as the others laughed.

"I'm out of here," said Fin, who had been texting in his cell phone for the last fifteen minutes.

"Oh, come on, it's early!" Elliot protested. "Just one more beer."

"Sorry, man," Fin said, "I would, but my girl is waiting for me."

"Yes, my friend," Munch said, "No one is waiting for me except my cold, empty bed, but I'm leaving anyway. Olivia, stay and have another drink with our dear friend if you will, otherwise he won't leave us alone."

"Yes, Liv, stay," Elliot asked, with a light smile. "One more drink."

Olivia already had a hard enough time saying no to him, and alcohol definitely didn't help. "Okay," she buckled. "Just one."

"That's my girl," he slurred slightly, waving at the waiter and raising two fingers.

There was a moment of silence as they watched their colleagues leaving and then the waiter approaching with their drinks. After he left and they were officially alone, Elliot chuckled.

"And then there were two," he said, smiling at her.

"Story of our lives," Olivia chuckled back, and another moment of silence followed. She decided to make small talk. "So how are the kids? How's baby Eli?"

"He's great," Elliot replied, looking a bit relieved to have found something to talk about. "He's almost walking. He's also a good sleeper now. Mostly."

"He's a good boy," Olivia smiled, nodding. "And how's Kathleen?" she asked a bit more cautiously, knowing that wasn't an easy subject.

"She's responding to treatment," he replied. "She's very thankful to you, by the way."

"Oh, really?" Olivia was a bit embarrassed. "I didn't do anything."

"And so am I," he said, his expression now serious. "I never really thanked you for that. You're always saving my kids, aren't you?"

"I think you've had one too many," Olivia said, taking the glass from his hand. "You, thanking me? I'm not letting you drive home."

"And saving me," he said, very serious, ignoring her jokes and making her smile fade as surprise took over. "Thank you," he said, his eyes piercing hers with some kind of intensity, and then he smiled, looking at his glass in her hand. "Now give it back."

Olivia laughed, but she was still mesmerized by Elliot's acknowledgement. He didn't usually express feelings, and while she knew he was thankful, it was good to hear the words for a change.

"It's not fair though," he went on, "that you got to see pictures of me as a kid when I never got to see yours."

"Oh, trust me," she said, thankful for the joke; it was easier to respond to that. "You don't want to see that."

"Why not? I bet you were a cute kid. Imagine that. Sweet little Olivia." He seemed amused at the thought. "What were you like in school? Were you one of the popular kids?"

"Me, no," she replied. "I was a bit of a geek. I kept to myself a lot. Now you must have been a jock, all the way."

"Yeah, maybe," he said. "But what do you mean you kept to yourself? I bet the boys followed you around."

"Well, maybe a little bit," she admitted, refraining from dwelling on the subject of her loneliness in school, remembering how ashamed she used to be of her mother's drinking problem, on top of her other issues with her, such as feeling rejected for being the constant reminder of her rape, and how all of that had made her want to hide from the world. She hoped her smile would conceal where her mind had gone and changed the subject.

More beers were ordered and drunk without any mention of that half pint that was going to be the last one, and Olivia noticed how the bar was getting increasingly emptier as time passed. She was waiting for the moment when Elliot would burst their little bonding-over-drinks bubble and call it a night, but he wasn't getting around to it. She knew that doing so herself was the right thing to do but, if she was honest, she didn't want to.

Curiosity was nagging at her, though, and she had been avoiding the subject all night. No longer able to contain the impulse, she took a sip of liquid courage before uttering the question.

"So… How come you've been avoiding going home these days?"

Elliot seemed surprised at first, but then he simply shrugged and looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, smiling and shaking his head.

"Ok, message received…" she retorted, also smiling. "I won't ask again."

"It's nothing," he said, now serious, looking away. He shook his head seeming to be looking for a way to explain something. "Everything is fine but… I just don't think… I just don't think that's what we wanted."

That took Olivia by surprise. "What wasn't what you wanted?"

"Getting back together," he said, facing her with a very serious expression on his face.

"Oh," Olivia said, looking away, astonished. She hadn't expected that kind of revelation, and definitely not in as much detail.

"You know, it was the right thing to do, with the baby," he went on, playing with a napkin. He hesitated. "But sometimes... Sometimes I wonder… If we really should have."

That last sentence was said quickly, like he was trying to pretend he didn't say it, and he drank a mouthful of beer as though he wanted to drown his words. Setting his glass back on the table, he looked at her again. "I'm rambling. Let's talk about something else."

"Fine by me," she said, still looking away, kicking herself inside for asking about his marriage. She took another sip of her drink, feeling his eyes locked on her. They didn't falter when she turned hers to them again, and there was a moment of silence as they stared at each other.

"So what about Jack?" Elliot asked, breaking the intense eye contact for a moment to turn his attention back to that napkin, which he started tearing into strips. "How's that going?"

"Jeff," she corrected, laughing at the fact that he could never get the name right. "Well, that's no longer going anywhere."

"Sorry to hear," he said, not looking sorry at all. Actually, she noticed he was almost smiling. "What happened?"

"Ah, you know," it was her turn to hesitate and look for the words in her head. "Just didn't work."

"Yeah, well…" he hedged. "It's complicated, isn't it? Relationships…"

"We'll say!" Olivia retorted, approaching him slightly and pointing from herself to him to emphasize her point. He laughed.

"Yeah, I know," he confirmed, and then locked his eyes on hers again, not flinching from her sudden closeness. "But we work, don't we?"

She considered it for a moment; he seemed to be referring to more than just their partnership, but, as usual, she couldn't be sure.

"Yes, we do," she answered softly, not specifying either.

They sat like that, eyes locked, at a mere palm of each other, as Olivia tried to guess what was going through Elliot's mind. She shifted between his eyes, looking for clues, but there was none. Certainly none that would indicate that a second later he would close the distance between them and kiss her.

His lips touched hers lightly at first, as though asking for permission, and as she returned, he kissed her again vehemently. Placing a hand on her jaw and tangling his fingers in her hair, he tilted his face to the side and parted her lips with his, deepening the kiss. At the touch of their tongues, Olivia couldn't help but let a moan escape, and in response she felt his other arm circling her waist and pulling her flush against him.

It took a moment for Olivia to realize what was happening. Elliot was kissing her. Her partner, her _married_ partner, was kissing her, holding her close to his body, stroking her jawline with his thumb. Their tongues were in sync, moving together as if they were used to doing so. After the initial shock and doubt, Olivia couldn't help but let go of control. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he groaned in response. A second later, she felt his body tensing up, and he pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he said, breaking contact completely and looking away from her. "I don't know what… I'm sorry."

Still confused, Olivia noticed a ringing that seemed to be going on for a while and realized it was her cell phone; after some difficulty finding it and retrieving it from her pocket, she answered the call. "Benson," she said, running a hand through her hair and struggling to listen to the person on the other end of the line. What she heard seemed to wake her up from her reverie, though, and she tugged at Elliot's arm to wake him up from his when she hung up. "We have a case."


	2. Profile

2 - PROFILE

_I couldn't even wipe the blood off her face. The blood I had inflicted myself, staining her swollen, busted lip, and sticking a strand of her hair to her red-painted forehead. All I could do was watch her as she lay there, unconscious, with blood all over her face, and pretend that I got off on it in order to keep my cover. Despite all that she had been through, she looked like she was just sleeping, peacefully. _

_The static from the speaker removed me from my thoughts._

"_That's enough beauty sleep," the voice said. "There, in the corner, there's water. Use some to wake her up."_

_I contained any reactions, simply standing up from the mattress, throwing a neutral look and a nod at the glass and walking towards a bucket that was half-filled. I took it, then walked back until I stood in front of her. I hesitated, waiting for any other instructions, but he said nothing. I took some water in my hand and sprayed it at her face._

_She woke up, startled, and her eyes instantly focused on me. There was fear all over her features; she didn't know what to expect, and frankly, neither did I. I didn't have a plan, just an idea. But there was no way of knowing if it would work, or if the bullet would simply ricochet back at me. While I sat watching Olivia sleep, I was thinking that the perfect moment to try it was when he spoke, because I would be sure he was on the other side of the two-way glass. _

_I was scared to death, but there wasn't much else I could do. Even if I tortured her some more while he jerked off on the other side, or whatever he did while he watched, it would just buy us some time, but it wasn't like anything would change much in the next few hours. The odds would continue to be against us. And worse; he might get bored and decide to move to the next phase of his torturing agenda, which was already behind schedule. I definitely couldn't let him proceed to the next phase. Getting in here and securing her was the point of all this anyway; now all bets were off._

_I stared at Olivia, hating having her frightened eyes on me and wondering if my fear was also showing. I took a deep breath and took the gun. She shut her eyes, resigned._

"_Be careful with that, Elliot," the voice said. "We don't want the fun to end just yet. Show me what else you've got, use your bare hands."_

_She cried silent tears as he spoke, her eyes still closed, and I was glad she couldn't see me aiming the gun at her. I took a deep breath, turned as quickly as I could and pulled the trigger blindly at the mirror._

* * *

The ride to the crime scene was completely silent, and Elliot refrained from looking at Olivia as much as he could. Shame didn't begin to describe how he was feeling; he just couldn't believe he had lost control like that. He hadn't thought at all, he had only acted on what he had felt at the moment. He thought about it, trying to retrace it.

She had asked him about why he was avoiding going home, and that had made him question how much of it was really about not going home and how much was just about not leaving her. He had also found out her relationship, which had been going on for a few months, was over. And then they had talked about how their partnership worked, despite its complications. He'd had a hard time keeping from staring at her, from looking into her beautiful eyes. Eventually, he had stopped trying. Next thing he knew, he was kissing her. Like he had always wanted. Like he had always feared.

He wanted to punch something. He had done the last thing he should have, something completely wrong, for more reasons than he could count. He knew that he had been pushing his luck, spending a lot of time with her, especially putting himself in situations like this, alone with her at a bar, after downing several beers. She hadn't made any effort to avoid it either; she had agreed to stay for more drinks, she had pushed personal topics to talk about, she had kissed him back, and God… she looked so good. Why did she have to look so good?

But he couldn't blame her. He was the one who had insisted for her to stay. He had encouraged the personal subjects just as much, and he had been the one to lose control and initiate the whole thing. But he wanted to, he wanted really badly to blame her, because that would not only absolve him of his error in judgment but also give him a good reason and a good strategy to stay away from her.

The silence rang loud in his ears as those thoughts kept screaming in his mind, so he thanked God when they finally arrived. Without a word, they both got out of the car and started walking, side by side, towards the dead body lying on the ground in an alley. Elliot saw that Melinda Warner, the medical examiner, was already there, as well as the crime scene unit. Bright blue and red lights flashed at his face, hurting his eyes.

The temperature had dropped considerably, but maybe it was because it was almost three in the morning. That reminded Elliot that Kathy must have called a thousand times, but as he took his phone to check, he remembered drunkenly texting her that he had gotten a case hours ago. Well, now it was true.

"What do we got?" he asked impatiently.

"Jane Doe," Warner started, "late thirties, blunt force trauma to the head and several bruises and cuts throughout the whole body, including mutilation of her genitalia.

"Cause of death?" Olivia asked, visibly impacted by the description and the sight.

"Not confirmed yet, but I think that gash on her thigh is the winner. She must have bled out from her femoral artery."

"Tell me the other cuts were post-mortem," Olivia pleaded.

Warner shrugged apologetically. "Doesn't look that way. Some of them look older than the others, so my guess is he took his time torturing her. It seems we have a real sadist in our hands. She felt every single cut."

Elliot sighed, stealing a glance at Olivia, but looking away immediately as she was staring back at him.

* * *

After working the crime scene and canvassing the area for the rest of the night, Olivia and Elliot went back to the precinct. Elliot went straight to the cribs, choosing a bed and throwing himself in it, hoping to get some shut-eye to sleep off any remaining trace of the alcohol and get over the regret for his actions before morning hit the house officially with the beginning of the next day. He heard Olivia going for a shower, probably with a similar mindset.

Elliot closed his eyes, feeling instantly sleepy. As reality started to fade, thoughts of Olivia invaded his mind, with the vivid sensation of her lips against his mouth and her body pressed close to his. He could taste the kiss, as much as he tried not to, and he could remember exactly what her tongue had felt like against his, in an instant integration, both moving harmoniously as they sought to explore.

He tried to drive away those thoughts, tossing and turning in bed, but he kept listening to the sound of the water running in the shower, painfully aware that Olivia was in there, naked. He gave up trying to sleep, but stayed in bed; the sound of the water stopped. He could sense more than hear it when she approached, and he felt his whole body tensing as he waited for the inevitable moment when she would come into view, sitting down on the bed next to his. He could smell her shampoo, and it was intoxicating.

"Elliot," she called lightly. "We should talk."

He let out a heavy sigh. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about it, even though he knew that was the first thing she would try to do.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said, knowingly sounding harsher than he had intended, looking at a fixed point on the bunk bed above his and intently avoiding her stare. He heard her sigh, and waited for her protest. It never came. But she was still sitting there, burning a hole in the corner of his eye as he watched her with his peripheral vision. He replied to her inexistent protest anyway. "It was a mistake, and talking about it would be an even bigger mistake."

He waited; she wouldn't be satisfied with that reply. He was already preparing his next argument when she spoke.

"Okay. Glad to know we're on the same page."

He heard her steps as she left, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Later that morning, the rest of the team had already arrived and they were all gathered around the screens where all the information they had so far about the case was being displayed. The victim had been identified based on a missing person's report, and the time of death had been estimated as between 11 PM and 1 AM in the ME's preliminary report.

"Her name is Angela Stevens, she had been missing for three days," Olivia explained. "That indicates that the killer probably kidnapped her then tortured her for at least forty-eight hours. She was a psychiatrist and was reported missing by the colleague she shared an office with."

"So he tortured, raped and mutilated her and then killed her?" Elliot asked, horrified, looking at the pictures. "That's got to be personal."

"Yeap," Olivia nodded, looking disgusted. "Warner estimates that the first injuries were the cuts and bruises all over her body. He probably spent a day torturing her with that. The next day, he raped and mutilated her. And then he finished off with the final, fatal cut on her thigh. She bled out."

"Any DNA?" Munch asked, looking hopeful.

"None," she confirmed with a sigh. "He left no trace whatsoever. No hair, no fibers, no prints. He used gloves and a condom."

"This guy knows about forensics," Fin pointed out. "Maybe he works with it?"

"Nowadays with the internet and books and TV shows about real crimes, everybody knows about forensics," said Munch, shaking his head. "That doesn't tell us much."

"So, all we know is that he's a methodic, sadistic son of a bitch with a grudge against our vic," Elliot said, crossing his arms and sighing.

"Huang will come over to help with the profile," Olivia said, shrugging.

"Actually," said Captain Cragen, emerging from his office, "somebody else is coming to help with the profile too."

The team exchanged puzzled looks among one another.

"Do tell," Munch demanded.

"Detective Eric Downey, from Brooklyn Major Crimes. We ran the MO through VICAP and it turns out that this was only the first victim in Manhattan, but there were already two in Brooklyn. This is now a joint task force." The Captain paused, then raised his hands as the detectives moved their mouths to start protesting. "I don't want to hear it. You'll collaborate with him the best you can and be thankful he even wants to share the case with us at all. 1PP will be all over this and they'll expect results, so make sure you don't waste any time with pissing contests."

Elliot knew that last remark was meant for him, but he didn't say anything.

* * *

That morning, Olivia started a theory that too much coffee after an all-nighter was worse than none, and yet, she kept trying to drink some more, hoping that, if the caffeine didn't help, at least the need to lift the cup to drink from it would give her something to focus on, forcing her eyes to stay open. All she wanted was to get away from the precinct, and there wasn't much that they could do for the case at the moment, but the captain had asked them to wait for the Brooklyn detective. Unlike the rest of the team, she was welcoming the presence of an outsider; at least it would be a distraction, for her and everyone else, because she couldn't imagine that her colleagues wouldn't have picked up on the awkwardness between her and Elliot; they were all trained investigators after all.

They were barely speaking to each other, only whatever was absolutely necessary for the case. Olivia had decided to go talk to him sooner rather than later about what had happened, knowing that he would completely dismiss it as a mistake, an error in judgment, something that could never happen again. Which it was. So she figured that there was no point in delaying that inevitable conclusion, and that the sooner they both acknowledged it, the sooner the awkwardness would dissipate.

Maybe the presence of this detective would avoid too many moments alone with him until the dust settled. Maybe it would also keep everyone's minds occupied so they couldn't pay much attention to any change in their relationship. Maybe it would make it easier to pretend that nothing had happened, pretend that it was just a drunken hallucination, as surreal as flying or being invisible. In Olivia's mind, kissing Elliot belonged to that same category of impossible events that would only appear in nonsensical dreams.

Giving it any thought at all was also out of the question. Olivia had spent way too many years convincing herself that something between them would never happen and that, if something ever came close to happening, she should not allow it under any circumstance, because there was absolutely no way on Earth that it might work.

So whenever the memories of that last look he'd given her before lowering his eyes to her lips, the taste and coldness of the beer on his tongue as it touched hers, or the rock-solid feel of his chest against hers as he'd pulled her close came to mind, she immediately shoved them right back under the rug they had escaped from. She cursed herself again for not having left the bar when she had first decided to.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Captain Cragen?" said a voice right next to Olivia's desk, and she felt her head heavy when she hoisted it up too quickly to look at the tall man it belonged to.

"Detective Downey?" she asked, standing up.

The man smiled. And it was a nice smile too. Olivia took him in as she politely smiled back; he was an over six-feet tall, green-eyed, nice-smiling and good-looking man in his forties, well dressed in a simple navy blue suit over a light blue shirt, and he held out his hand to shake hers.

"You must be Detective Benson," he said smiling. "I heard a lot about you, the work you do here… It's really impressive. I hear that nobody in the force is as soft on the victims or as tough on the perps as you."

Olivia had to laugh at the unexpectedness of his comment. "Where did you hear that?" she shook his hand sheepishly, avoiding his look for a moment, and then she noticed Elliot's chair moving from the corner of her eye as he sat back, watching. She cleared her throat and introduced him. "Detective, this is my partner, Detective Stabler."

"Oh, hi, nice to meet you, Detective," Eric Downey said, now offering his hand to Elliot, who reluctantly stood up and forced a quick smile, firmly shaking the man's hand without a word.

Luckily, Cragen approached them then, relieving Olivia of any need to apologize for her partner's manners or lack thereof. The captain introduced himself, and soon the whole team, including Dr. George Huang, had gathered around the detective who, after the brief introductions, signaled that he wanted to get right down to business.

"Olivia, would you fill Detective Downey in on the details about our vic?" the captain asked, probably determining she was, among her colleagues, the friendliest toward the intruder.

After she presented the case, it was Downey's turn to show and tell. He displayed the pictures and profiles of the two Brooklyn victims. The MO was the same; forty-eight hours of torture, starting with aggression, then turning to sexual degradation and finishing with the fatal cut on the leg.

Besides the MO, the profile of the perp's victims was also very clear; the detective described them as single, independent, successful women in their late thirties or early forties, all of them very good-looking, but none of them in a serious relationship. Actually, he said their lives were pretty lonely, as none of them seemed to have much family and all they seemed to focus on was work. Olivia couldn't help but identify.

"He is clearly a misogynist," Huang explained. "It's like he can't accept that these women don't depend on men, that they lead full lives without making the men around them the center of their world. Do we know anything about their fathers? It's probably safe to assume none of these women had a strong father figure, if they had one at all."

Olivia saw Elliot's head turning to look at her, like a motion-sensing camera, but she pretended she hadn't noticed. In her mind, she was toying with the idea of not having any men be the center of her life, wondering if that was really true for her and how far from the center of her world she could place Elliot. As soon as that thought came, she also thought about how she was nowhere near the center of _his _life; it was already crowded with five children and a wife.

"So he wants to show these women that a man can be in control of their lives?" Cragen asked.

"Quite literally," Huang answered. "But before actually taking their lives, I'm thinking he wants to break their spirit. I think the first day of torture is all about destroying their confidence. He hurts them physically, but I'm betting he also tortures them psychologically."

"How?" Elliot muttered, looking a bit skeptical.

"My guess would be by convincing them that nobody loves them, by reversing the notion of their independence as having no one to count on. If his problem with these women is that they don't worship men, he would try to turn it around and make them believe that they are the ones who have been rejected by all men in their lives."

"Starting by their fathers," Olivia added, attracting quite a few surprised looks, including Elliot's. She knew they would think that was a touchy subject for her; it was, but she didn't have to show it by shying away from it.

"That would be my guess," Huang confirmed.

"That's sick," Fin commented.

"We live in a sick world," Munch retorted matter-of-factly.

"What could be the cause of such hatred, and directed at such a specific profile of women?" Cragen asked. "Do they remind him of his mother? An unrequited love?"

"Probably both," Huang explained. "If he felt rejected by his mother, he's likely to mirror that in every other relationship with women. He probably unconsciously always sought women who were somehow unavailable, and they confirmed the rejection every time."

"Until he snapped," Munch said. "Got tired of taking no for an answer."

"That's all very interesting, Doctor Huang," Detective Downey commented politely, but in a final tone. "This guy is a sick bastard who likes to attack women. That's all I need to know."


	3. Distractions

3 - DISTRACTIONS

When Elliot pulled up in front of his house, he was wiped. He turned off the engine and sat back in the driver's seat, letting out a deep sigh. The rest of the day had been spent analyzing the final CSU and ME reports and looking for connections between the victims, but they found nothing to link them besides their profiles. Also, CSU had concluded that the latest victim had been killed elsewhere, like the others, and they already knew that the perp had managed to remain unseen, unheard and unknown in all of his dump sites, besides not leaving any forensic trace behind in the bodies. So basically, this had been a long, useless day.

It was already evening again, and only now he was returning home. However, he wasn't in a hurry to get out of the car, climb the steps to the front door, walk in and face Kathy. He had decided to pretend that nothing had happened, since nothing would come out of it, and he knew there was no point in hurting Kathy by telling her about something as inconsequential as what had happened had been. Also, it would reopen the case on Olivia, which had taken so much time and effort to close and was now sealed, never to be mentioned. His main leverage had been that nothing even remotely physical had ever happened, and now, he couldn't exactly claim that anymore. So no, there was no point in telling Kathy.

But he knew. And now, he didn't know how he was supposed to look at her. As inconsequential as he wanted it to be, as unimportant as he kept trying to convince himself it had been, he couldn't simply ignore his slip. First of all, because he was a man of his word; he didn't believe in lies and he wasn't good at telling them. But also because, as much as he tried to, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He couldn't stop replaying that kiss over and over in his head, and worse, he couldn't stop wishing he could do it again. It only took one look at her, and all he wanted was to forget everything and take her in his arms.

He pounded on the steering wheel several times, cursing at this ridiculous situation he had put himself in. It didn't help at all that they had stumbled upon a serial killer case, one that would undoubtedly not be an easy one, would require long hours and cause extreme emotional strain. He had seen how the profile of the victims had affected Olivia. She had tried to feign nonchalance, but he knew her. So that was another concern on his shoulders. And to top it all, they had a special guest for the case, a homicide detective who didn't seem like he had much to add, but who had immediately set his eyes on Olivia. Well, could he blame him?

Elliot sometimes got too used to seeing her every day and forgot the impact that she could have when seen for the first time, especially by men. And this one had apparently _heard a lot about her_. He had said some stupid nonsense about her reputation that had made her giggle like a schoolgirl. Well, maybe that would be a good thing. Maybe this new guy hitting on her would be a distraction and allow him to stay as far away from her as he could, which was definitely what he needed right now. A few more blows against the steering wheel later, he finally opened the door to get out of the car.

When he opened the house's front door, he looked around, but saw nobody instantly visible. A deep sigh freed a breath he'd been holding without noticing.

"I'm home," he announced, not very loudly, as the baby might be sleeping. As no immediate answer came, he went right for the stairs.

All he wanted was a cold shower and his bed. On his way to his bedroom, he noticed Elizabeth's and Dickie's bedrooms' doors were closed, and he could hear very different music coming from each; he figured they wouldn't be coming out anytime soon. He stopped by Eli's room, looking through a crack in the door; Kathy was there, and he saw the moment she put the sleeping baby down in his cradle. When she turned around and saw him, he forced a small smile and waited for her as she tiptoed out of the room, guilt instantly throbbing in his head.

"Hey, stranger!" she whispered, giving him an affectionate hug.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, squeezing her.

"Tough case?" she asked, pulling away from him while still keeping her arms around his neck.

"To say the least," he muttered back, looking into her eyes and feeling now completely overwhelmed by shame.

"That tough?" she asked, obviously noticing he wasn't okay.

He hugged her again to dodge the question. He absolutely didn't want to lie to her, so he figured talking was the last thing he should do, especially as tired as he was. Something could come out wrong.

"I missed you," he said against her hair, then pulled away to cup her face between his hands and, after contemplating her puzzled expression for a moment, he kissed her, paying attention to every sensation, trying to replace any memories of kissing Olivia with the correct, Kathy versions of them, like a liquid you drink to replace the taste of another.

Elliot broke the kiss to take her hand and walk her towards their bedroom.

"Wow, I guess you really did miss me," Kathy laughed, but he didn't reply.

He closed the door behind them and kissed her again, tugging at her clothes with the intent of getting rid of them. This was what he needed. To remember who he was supposed to want, who he was supposed to have. Olivia had been an accident. He figured this was a thirst he needed to quench; it was like when you're so hungry you'll crave something really tasty but which is not necessarily what you really want or really need. Kathy was who he really wanted and needed.

She started working on opening his shirt, but he interrupted her by grabbing her arms and throwing her against the bed. She laughed, making some sort of comment about how eager he seemed tonight, but he ignored it; he needed to get rid of his and her pants, which he did, and before she could remove any other clothes from him or herself, he penetrated her, hard, making her gasp with surprise. He saw her looking at him, quite shocked, but a moment later she had closed her eyes and started moaning unintelligible words mixed up with his name.

Elliot closed his eyes as he pounded into her, looking for release, for relief, for a sense of belonging, for a feeling of righteousness, for a confirmation that this was exactly where he should be, where he needed to be, where he wanted to be. He buried his face in her neck, holding on to her body as he moved harder and faster, hearing her muffled reactions as if they were coming from very far away. It didn't look like his answers were about to come, but he was, so he focused on that.

As he directed his attention to his body's sensations and the waves of pleasure mounting and leading up to his climax, the thought of the serial killer they were investigating popped unceremoniously into his head, with his targeting of successful, single, fatherless women who didn't need men. He remembered Huang's analysis and how this perp tortured his victims physically and psychologically, trying to make them believe that nobody loved them.

_Starting by their fathers_, she had said. He kept moving as he remembered how she had identified with the victims, how he had clearly seen the thought playing out in her head of how she would be the perfect target. He had seen her expression when Huang had said that the killer tried to make his victims believe that their independence was actually loneliness, and that they had been rejected by all men in their lives. Elliot had seen how she had questioned it in her mind, how she had thought about her own life, wondering if there was any truth to it, wondering if it was true that nobody loved her.

He was way too tired, but he was too close to stop now, so he tried moving even harder and faster to try and rush it while he remembered how he had wanted to tell her not to wonder about that; it was not true that nobody loved her. It was actually quite the opposite; he had never known one person who didn't like her. He felt the sudden urge to reassure her, tell her, prove to her that she was loved, and so loved. He wanted to hold her tight and tell her not to let this perp get inside her head; it was not and never would be true that nobody loved her. It was _not _true.

"It's not true," he whispered against her neck, and then he felt his orgasm, not nearly as relieving as he had hoped it would be, but at least it was over, and he could finally rest. "It's not true," he repeated, relaxing, still holding her, still buried in her neck. "_I_ love you. I love you."

"Oh, I love you too, honey," Kathy said, bringing him crashing back to his house, his bed, and his wife, who was now affectionately caressing his hair. He closed his eyes and let sleep swallow him.

* * *

Olivia arrived early at the precinct the next day, feeling renewed after a good night's sleep. She was determined not to let whatever had happened between her and Elliot get in the way of the job or bother her anymore. It seemed so distant now anyway; they had already agreed to move on and that was what they should do. They had enough on their plate with this new case, so there was no need for any additional drama.

Detective Eric Downey arrived about twenty minutes after her, not looking very rested. She figured being on this case longer was taking its toll on him, and she hoped that the unit could help wrap this up before there were any other casualties. After greeting her briefly, he seemed a bit confused about where to leave his things – he was carrying a briefcase and several folders. She made some room on her desk and motioned to it.

"Here, Detective Downey. I'll make sure someone finds you a chair and we can share the desk until we find you something more permanent."

"Please, Detective, call me Eric," he said, looking very grateful, placing his things on the desk and following her towards the coffee maker. "If we're going to share a desk, we should be on a first name basis."

"Well, call me Olivia then," she smiled. "Coffee?"

"Sure," he said, approaching her as she handed him a mug. "Want to hear something funny? My mother's name is Olivia."

She frowned, looking at him as she poured coffee into his borrowed mug; he had a reverent smile on his face. "Really?" she asked.

"Yeap," he confirmed, sighing. "She passed away last year."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Olivia rushed to say.

"Yeah, it's ok," he smiled sadly, then took two small packets from his pocket, opened one and poured it into his coffee. "Sugar?" he offered.

"That's not at all weird," Olivia grinned, amused, then shrugged. "Why not?" she said playfully, holding out her own mug for him to empty out the second packet into. "Do you always carry your own sugar with you?"

Eric shrugged, laughing and looking embarrassed as he discarded his stir stick. "It became a habit. In my precinct they don't buy any, so I always steal some of these from coffee shops and diners."

"You should complain to your union rep about it, I mean…" she joked, enjoying watching him become even more embarrassed; it was cute. It was also good to flirt unpretentiously and lightheartedly with someone in light of all the recent drama. She tasted the coffee and didn't find it sweet enough, so she added more sugar, raising it to him. "And next time be sure to try our sugar. It's nothing special, but it gets the job done."

"That's very kind of you," Eric joked back, then walked back towards her desk. She followed, then noticed Elliot already sitting in his chair, staring at her; he had probably watched the whole exchange. _Well, so what?_ she thought. She could flirt with whoever she wanted and he had no right to even roll his eyes.

"Morning, Elliot," she said, doing her best to give him a warm, friendly smile.

"Mornin'," he muttered, avoiding her eyes.

"So I was thinking," Eric started, opening one of the folders he had left on the desk. "We could get an early start by going to see our vic's colleague, the psychiatrist who reported her missing. Her name is..." he ran his finger on Angela Stevens' file, searching. "Nicole Jennings."

"What about her next of kin?" Elliot spat, swinging in his chair.

Olivia opened her own file, taking a deep breath, afraid that their pissing match might ruin her previously positive mood.

"Her mother, Victoria Stevens," she informed. "Lives in Queens."

"They don't seem very close," Eric commented. Elliot threw him an inquisitive look, as though asking how he knew; he seemed to get the message and replied. "Her colleague's the one who filed the missing person's report," the detective explained. "She's probably more up to date with what was happening in Angela's life."

"Why don't we split up and cover both?" Olivia suggested, trying to stay neutral. Elliot looked at her and raised an eyebrow, and she knew he was questioning who she was going to go with. "Elliot and I will go talk to the mother, you go see the shrink."

"Fine by me," Eric smiled.

* * *

The car ride was silent, and Olivia stared out the window the whole time. She felt tempted to make small talk to break the ice, but she refrained from it as it would probably only result in a couple of awkward sentences replied with a few grunts. It didn't take that long for them to arrive at their destination anyway.

"Mrs. Stevens?" Olivia asked, showing her badge, when a woman in her sixties answered the door.

"It's Miss," the woman corrected, looking almost offended.

"Sorry, Miss Stevens. I'm Detective Benson and this is my partner, Detective Stabler, we're from the Manhattan Special Victims Unit. May we come in? We really need to speak to you."

The woman frowned, but took a step back, allowing them space to walk in. The first thing Olivia noticed was that there were no pictures displayed anywhere in the apartment, which was otherwise cozy and tastefully decorated.

"What is this about?" Victoria Stevens asked once the three of them were seated.

"It's about your daughter, Angela Stevens," Elliot said softly.

"Well, what about her?" the woman didn't seem at all affected by the mention of her daughter's name.

"Miss Stevens, I'm really sorry…" he said. "I'm afraid Angela was murdered two nights ago."

Shock took over the woman's face, a weird, unaffected kind of shock, Olivia noted. The woman took a hand to her chest as her eyes wandered, as though she was looking for something or making some sort of calculation. "Murdered?" she was able to mumble a moment later, her attention back to Olivia.

Olivia nodded, pressing her lips together. "When was the last time you saw your daughter?" she asked softly.

Victoria just stared at her for a moment, like she didn't understand the question, then her eyes wandered again as she seemed to struggle to remember.

"A few months," she finally said. "Maybe a year. We weren't very close."

Olivia exchanged a look with Elliot, who frowned, looking unhappy that Eric's assessment was correct. She turned to Miss Stevens again, remembering Huang's analysis. "What about her father? Were they close?"

The woman's eyes darkened as she looked intently at Olivia; she didn't look confused anymore. "She didn't have a father," she said harshly.

"I'm sorry," Olivia nodded, not surprised, but connecting the dots between this and the whole _Miss Stevens _incident.

"How?" Victoria asked, now turning to Elliot. "Why? She never did anything to anyone, who would want to hurt her?"

"We don't know yet," he said. "We don't know if it's personal. We think she's one of the victims of a serial killer and rapist we're looking for..."

"She was raped?" the woman breathed, her eyes widening and then watering. Elliot looked at her apologetically, silently confirming. "Oh my God!"

She burst into tears, sobbing profusely, so much so that Elliot exchanged a confused look with Olivia and then got up to go fix her some water. Olivia sat next to her, with a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her somehow as she drank the whole amount of water quickly, seeming to calm down as she swallowed noisily. She returned the glass to Elliot.

"Thank you," she said, drying her tears. She looked from Olivia to Elliot, probably trying to put together an explanation, which she delivered a few moments later. "I'm sorry about that," she said. "It's just that… I was also raped, when I was young."

Olivia felt instantly sick, knowing what would come next before the woman even spoke.

"Angela is the product of that rape."


	4. Anxiety

4 - ANXIETY

Elliot came out of the apartment building to find Olivia on the sidewalk, hyperventilating, leaning against the building's wall as if she couldn't stand up straight on her own. This had hit her hard. She had tried to conceal it as best as she could, pretending that she needed to take a call outside and excusing herself. He had finished up the interview with the victim's mother and followed her out a few moments later.

"Are you all right?" he asked tentatively, keeping a safe distance so as not to scare her.

She noticed his presence, turning her eyes to look at him for a moment, while her body remained immobile against the wall, hands sprawled on the concrete, her fingernails white with the strength she was applying, as though she was trying to grasp the wall, to hold on to something. She didn't answer. Her face was so pale that even her lips had lost their color, and her whole body trembled. She looked away from him again, as though trying to concentrate.

Elliot figured this wasn't the time to worry about anything stupid that might or might not have happened between them; she needed him. He put his hand on her shoulder, gripping firmly.

"You're not her. You're not any of them. This is just a stupid coincidence."

Olivia nodded quickly, agreeing. "I don't know…" she whispered in between shallow breaths, shaking her head slightly. "I don't know why I'm so…"

"It's okay," Elliot whispered, taking a step closer. "You'll be all right."

Her shaking seemed to decrease as he got closer, and her breaths slowly became deeper as the minutes passed. He picked a direction away from her to look at and waited, rubbing his thumb against her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said eventually, still looking ahead of her, the color back to her face and her breathing no longer audible. "I'm okay."

"Okay." Elliot dropped his hand from her shoulder, and they walked silently back to the car.

* * *

Back at the precinct, Olivia let Elliot share their conversation with Angela's mother with the rest of the team. She was still a bit shaken, even though she wasn't sure why she'd had such a strong reaction; in her line of work, identifying with victims was an occupational hazard. It wasn't like she had never met any other people who had been conceived by rape, or rape victims who had gotten pregnant.

Detective Downey arrived a few minutes after them, bringing two coffees, offering her one. She saw Elliot fidgeting irritably and wondered if Eric had brought the coffee just to piss him off. She sipped from her paper cup, choosing to ignore that completely, and asked him about his conversation with Angela's colleague.

"She was a true workaholic," he said. "Apparently, she hadn't had a boyfriend in a long time, and she didn't have many friends besides Nicole. She also lived alone."

"Huang says our perp knows a lot about the victims," Captain Cragen said. "So he probably stalked them. Did she tell her friend about anybody she might have met recently?"

"No, she said nothing out of the ordinary had happened to Angela recently, or at least nothing she knew about."

"Maybe she wasn't that up to date with what was happening in Angela's life," Elliot teased. "Maybe a new patient?"

"I actually thought of that," Eric said, sounding a bit defensive. "I asked for their list of patients, but Nicole wouldn't give it up. She said she needed to protect the patients' privacy and would only give us the list if we had a warrant."

"I'll talk to Cabot," Fin volunteered. "We don't have much to go on, this could be our chance to find a lead."

The captain nodded, agreeing and authorizing his initiative.

"Oh, and curious thing," Eric seemed to remember. "Angela was specialized in the treatment of PTSD in victims of sexual assault."

"The irony," Munch commented.

Olivia tried to ignore Elliot's worried look, even though she felt it burning her skin. Yet another parallel: child of rape who dedicated her life to helping rape victims. She was getting sick of all this; it was almost as if this was a prank, a sick joke, someone trying to push her buttons – and the worst part was that it was working. She looked away from Elliot, glad that at least that new information hadn't caused any physical reactions this time. One anxiety attack had been enough.

Right now, she was more worried about the case; there were so many pieces of information, but no clear connection between them; it was like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle, but finding out that the thousands of small pieces actually belonged to several different sets and would never form one picture together. There were so many details to check, but not many avenues of investigation that might really lead somewhere.

"While we wait for the warrant," she suggested, "I think we should review the interview transcripts for everyone Brooklyn police talked to. I still can't make sense of this case, I could use some more background."

"That's actually a good idea," Cragen agreed. "Elliot, help her out with that. Detective Downey, you're welcome to give them context on your previous interviews."

"Of course, Captain," Downey replied, sitting down next to Olivia and handing her and Elliot some folders.

"I'll be right back," Elliot said, returning his files, and Olivia was almost thankful, because she wasn't looking forward to mediating the two alpha males' dispute. When he came back, though, Elliot seemed more focused on helping her than exercising his dominance, which actually contributed to a rather productive afternoon.

Pretty much the rest of the day was spent on that thorough review, and even though they weren't checking any new information, analyzing the material actually helped Olivia get a better grasp on the case. Her mind raced with the amount of information, or maybe it was the high level of caffeine she had consumed that day. Besides the interviews, she also studied the crime scene photos and autopsy reports and pictures. Besides their current victim, Angela Stevens, the other ones were Elizabeth Moore, a thirty-nine-year-old real estate agent, and Anna Perkins, a forty-year-old designer who worked at a big advertising agency.

From the witness interviews, Olivia and Elliot learned that Elizabeth Moore, the second victim, was a small-town girl from Texas whose father had died when she was five and whose mother still lived in her hometown with her husband, Elizabeth's stepfather. According to a close friend, she didn't use to have a good relationship with him, and he had abused her as a child. Her mother not only knew, but had convinced her she was crazy and nothing wrong had happened.

"No wonder she got the hell out of there as soon as she could," Olivia commented, her brain working fast and screaming suggestions; she voiced one of them next. "Eric, didn't you mention that Angela worked with rape victims? What are the chances that Elizabeth was ever her patient? If she said her mother had convinced her she was crazy, that means she had already figured out that something wrong _had _actually happened."

"That could be a link between our vics," Elliot agreed.

"We'll check it when we get our hands on that list," Downey said, looking impatient. "But I didn't hear anything about therapy from any of the people I talked to."

Olivia saw Elliot frowning suspiciously and contained an urge to roll her eyes. When was he going to stop questioning everything Downey did and actually start working with him?

The first victim, before Elizabeth, had been Anna Perkins. Eric said that a couple of friends had helped put together her fatherless background: the man had actually died when she was still a baby, and her mother had never really recovered from that loss or addressed her depression in any way. When Anna was in college, at age twenty-four, her mother had died but, according to her friends, it had been a relief for her; after that, she had decided to go study art in France, where she stayed for five years.

"She wasn't always a hotshot designer," Elliot pointed out, holding out a sheet of paper to Olivia. "It was a recent thing. Look, she had started on that job less than a year before she was killed."

"She tried to survive on her art before that," Detective Downey explained. "According to her friends, she had a few odd jobs here and there just to pay the bills."

"I think I know why she made such a major lifestyle change," Olivia said. "She had a new boyfriend, a Robert Keen, who is actually the director at the advertising agency she was working at."

"I thought none of them had boyfriends," Elliot said, looking at Downey accusatively.

"I said none of them had _serious _relationships," Eric corrected. "It was recent and didn't seem very serious, or at least that's the impression I got from him. Here's the transcript for his interview. He was the first one we looked at, when we still thought this was a single murder."

"Thanks," Olivia took the transcript and started reading immediately.

"She actually doesn't fit that well with the other two victims," Elliot said, standing up. "For one thing, she wasn't exactly successful in her career."

It was Eric Downey's turn to frown in response, but this time Olivia sided with Elliot.

"Like you said," Elliot was saying, "she wanted to live off her art, and she tried for a long time, unsuccessfully. Then, she gave it up for a job that gave her some comfort and security, but I wouldn't exactly call it a successful career."

"Plus the relationship," Olivia added. "Maybe it wasn't center-of-her-life serious, but he did influence her to change careers."

"Maybe the perp didn't know that the change was recent," Eric suggested.

"Doesn't fit," Elliot disagreed. "He's a stalker, he knows all about them. Any chance this wasn't our guy?"

"No, Detective Stabler," Eric's tone was a bit harsh with what looked like annoyance at being questioned. "The MO fits too perfectly, all the details are the same, and nothing about it was ever released to the media. Maybe the career thing is less important to him than we think."

"This was his first victim, maybe he didn't vet her as thoroughly as he did the other ones," Olivia offered, trying to find some middle ground. "Maybe he started to get off on stalking them later."

"It became a part of his ritual," Elliot added, as though thinking out loud.

Olivia was glad that he was cooperating, at least with her. After helping her with her sudden anxiety after interviewing Angela's mother, he had started to act closer to normal around her; it seemed like they had finally gotten over that unfortunate kiss. She stood up, approaching the screen to take a look at the pictures of all three victims. She focused on Elizabeth Moore once again.

"Real estate agent," she murmured. "Our guy could have posed as a potential client, maybe visited places with her."

"Maybe he chose the other two victims by their profession?" Elliot suggested, approaching Olivia next to the screen. "Maybe he had a hard time getting close to Anna and decided to pick professions that would make it easy for him to approach them without raising suspicion."

"Eric, did you check Elizabeth's recent clients?" Olivia asked.

"Just for priors," he replied.

"I think we should focus on it now," she was excited to start immediately.

"I'll get in touch with the agency she worked with," Eric said, seeming to get onboard. "My guess would be that our perp will be among the people who looked at places but didn't buy any."

"And then disappeared," Olivia smiled, hearing the loud thumping of her heart in the background.

The whole team started checking out the names in Elizabeth Moore's client list and taking note of the most promising ones to interview. Night was already falling, a bit earlier than usual because it was about to rain, when Olivia stood up from her desk. Suddenly drained of energy, she was considering going out for a cappuccino from the coffee cart, as she'd already had several cups of the precinct's black coffee during the afternoon and just thinking about another one made her feel sick to her stomach.

Before she could decide, though, the Captain appeared at his office's door and summoned her with a gesture. As she approached, he went behind his desk and stood there, without sitting down.

"Yes, Captain?" she asked, curious.

"Close the door, please, Detective," he asked, raising a red flag in her mind.

She did as told, then stood, crossing her arms and facing him. "What's up?"

"I just wanted a quick word with you," he said, hesitantly.

She frowned, finding his tone weird, maybe a little too soft. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Cragen sighed, stashing a hand in his pocket as he seemed to be putting words together in his mind.

"Liv, this case is a tough one. On all of us." he dropped a pen he'd been holding with his free hand on the desk and walked from behind it, his eyes never leaving hers. "Given your history… I'm afraid this case might be hitting too close to home. I want to make sure that you can handle it, and that you can be objective about it."

Olivia digested carefully what he'd just said, then nodded and looked down; an outraged smile played on her lips as she figured out where this was coming from, and she shook her head with resentment before raising it to look up at Cragen again.

"What did Elliot say?" her voice quivered as she set her jaw to keep her chin from trembling with the angry tears that threatened to betray her barely controlled exterior.

"He's just trying to look out for you…"

"Captain," she interrupted, approaching him, which seemed to shock him, but he let her speak. "With all due respect, I know you mean well. But between him and me, who's the one who loses control more often? And who usually cleans up _his _mess?"

"Olivia, this isn't about…"

"I can handle the case, Captain," she said, making an effort to keep her voice calm and pressing her lips together to bite down everything else she wanted to say.

"Okay," the Captain nodded. "That's all I needed to hear."

* * *

Elliot felt a shiver down his spine as he suddenly felt her presence, her head way too close, right next to his as she stood behind his chair, leaning to level with him. Her lips brushed his ear when she spoke.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Olivia said in a low voice, and he could hear the anger dripping from it.

He knew what this was about; he had been preparing for it. Sighing, but without a word, he stood up and followed her to the hallway. She stopped so suddenly that he almost collided with her, but she didn't flinch; instead, she approached him even more until there were only a few inches between their faces.

"I can't believe you," she said, fuming, then smiled and shook her head. "I'm so stupid, I was actually thankful that you helped me out back there, I was thinking that we were finally good again, but then the first thing you do when we get back here is rat me out?"

He was a bit taken aback by her rage. He had expected her to complain, but not so angrily and with such strong words. "Rat you out?"

"How am I supposed to trust you now? What's your game? Are you trying to get rid of me? Get me off this case?"

"What?" He was processing the information with a bit of a delay in contrast to her going from zero to sixty in a second; how could she be thinking that he had somehow tried to jeopardize her? How had she made that leap?

"Is that because of what happened?" She lowered her voice and approached him even more, exchanging focus between his eyes. "Are you trying to get rid of me because of a mistake _you_ made?"

He couldn't believe what he had just heard. Was that her opinion of him?

"No!" He managed to get out, offended by the implication. "That has nothing to do with anything, what the hell is wrong with you? I was worried about you. I _am_ worried. Even more now."

"And _I_ am done," she said through clenched teeth. "I'm done with you. I _am_ working this case, but after that you don't need to worry because you'll never hear from me again."

She stormed off, not giving him any time to deal with what she had just said, let alone respond. When he finally made it back to the squadroom, she and Detective Downey were putting on their coats.

"Where are you going?" He asked her, but she acted like she hadn't heard him.

"Angela's office," Downey replied, triumphantly showing him the warrant. "We'll finally get the patient list."

Elliot took his suit jacket off his chair, but was interrupted by Olivia.

"No need for a third wheel," she said harshly, walking past him in a rush.


	5. Only everything

5 - ONLY EVERYTHING

_This was going to be the easy part, I'd thought. I was wrong. I wonder if I knew it and I was just trying to comfort myself by lying. I thought the physical pain was the hard part. If I knew it before or not is pointless; after the mental torture, that's when I was really broken. I tried to keep Huang's profile in mind; this was all for a reason, and this was about him, not me. I was only the alias through which he was channeling his anger, his misogyny. _

_But knowing that didn't protect me much. _

_Maybe the issues were his, but he sure did some good research on mine. He knew everything that would get to me. Everything. _

"_Are you trying to tell me I'm the torturer? What about you? What you put yourself through? Investigating rapes? Learning every single way in which your _father_ hurt your mother? Knowing that all that ugliness and all that sickness is what made it possible for you to _exist_? Maybe keeping you was the worst your mother could do to you. She condemned you to a life of torture."_

_A thousand tiny cuts, deep, through my bone._

"_Who's going to miss you when you're dead? No one. No family, no friends. Your co-workers? Well, they'll be upset for a few days, but then you'll be replaced. You were already replaced once, and everybody moved on. Even Elliot; maybe he even liked her better than you. He certainly gave her more in a few months than the scraps of attention he's given you in ten years."_

_A mirror rubbed against my face; a broken mirror cutting its way through me, drawing the ugliest pictures on my skin._

"_What is it like to look at yourself in the mirror? To stare at your beautiful features, your gorgeous eyes… and know that those traits belong to a rapist. That whatever in your face, in your body, in your personality, that doesn't come from your mother, comes from a rapist, the worst kind of scum, the kind of person you work so hard every day to put away. What does it feel like to look in the mirror and see the daughter of a rapist?"_

_This isn't about me, I kept repeating over and over, like a mantra. This is _not_ about me._

"_A beautiful woman who could have anyone she wanted, but who does she want? Her _married _partner. The only one she could never have. And why is that? I mean, he's not the nicest guy. He's not even that good looking, you've gone out with much better-looking guys than him, haven't you? What is it about him? Do you think it's his family? His perfect, happy family? You didn't have one, you wanted one so bad. Maybe you just couldn't rest until you wrecked that perfect home, until you ruined that happy family? If you can't have one, no one can."_

_Was he right? I wondered if the others kept asking themselves the same thing. Trying to figure out the answer was the real torture._

* * *

"Is everything all right?" Eric asked as he and Olivia got in the car.

"Why wouldn't it be?" she spat, turning the key in the ignition; the engine roared to life, and she realized Eric wasn't to blame for her bad mood. "Sorry. I'm just annoyed."

"What did he do?" he asked. "He doesn't seem like the easiest person to be partners with."

Olivia scoffed. "You could say that," she said, keeping it purposefully vague as she fought tears of rage that were trying to get out since she'd left Cragen's office.

She couldn't believe Elliot had told the captain about her breakdown. To her, this was the last straw, the definite proof that this partnership was done. She felt so stupid, always covering for him, always managing him, his reactions, his relationships, his damn marriage. And he couldn't even keep her breakdown to himself, aware as he was that she wouldn't have allowed herself to be that vulnerable in front of anybody else. Well, that was certainly never going to happen again, she'd make sure of it.

All eyes were already on her because of her similarities with the victims' profile, she didn't need him telling their boss that she was having problems with it. A tear escaped when she stopped paying attention, but she quickly wiped it as if doing so would make it not count.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Eric said softly. "A partner is like a brother: you fight, you want to kill them, but they're family. You always make up."

Olivia smiled with sarcasm, remembering her brother, her rapist father's son who she had only seen a couple of times. "Well, I wouldn't know," she said.

"Only child?"

_Only everything_, she corrected in her mind. Apparently, her silence was enough of a hint for Eric to drop the conversation altogether, for which she was thankful.

When they arrived at Angela's office, they had to wait for Nicole as she was with a patient. They sat in the waiting room, and Olivia used the first few minutes of silence to calm down. She needed to face the facts. She had been fooling herself; her partnership with Elliot was really over, probably had been for a long time, but she hadn't wanted to let go of it. Maybe it had never been what she thought it was, maybe what she used to think they had was all in her mind, her feeble attempt at a deep connection with someone. It was clearly not that deep for him.

"So how long have you worked at SVU?" Eric asked tentatively, as though testing if it was already all right to talk to her. She appreciated his thoughtfulness. Even though she didn't feel like talking, she welcomed the opportunity to get her mind off Elliot for a minute.

"Ten years," she said. "Ever since I became a detective."

"Wow," he nodded. "You must have seen a lot of horrible things."

Olivia looked at him; he seemed genuinely concerned about her. If only he knew what she had already seen. Already been through. He seemed to get an idea from her expression though.

"Is it ever… too much to handle?" he asked hesitantly.

She smiled. "Always."

He pressed his lips together and touched her arm lightly.

"Like homicide is any better," she joked, smiling, trying to lighten up the mood.

"I know," he said, removing his hand and smiling. "I guess the difference is…"

"The victims," she completed. "I get that a lot."

"In homicide they don't have a life to rebuild."

"How's that any better?" she asked, truly curious.

The door to Nicole's office opened then, making them promptly stand up in anticipation, and Olivia saw the patient as he walked out, a man in his thirties who seemed negatively surprised to see them in the waiting room.

"I thought I was your last patient tonight," he complained in a low voice to the woman, who must be Nicole.

"They're not patients," she clarified, and the man's only reply was a grunt. "I'll see you next week," she said to his back, and Olivia felt a chill across her skin as he walked hurriedly past her on his way out.

"Detectives, sorry about making you wait," Nicole said.

"No problem," Eric said, then motioned towards the exit. "What was that all about?"

She rolled her eyes. "He's very private. He doesn't like to be seen here, I guess he's one of those people who think only crazy people need therapy."

Olivia scoffed, attracting Nicole's stare; Eric introduced her. "This is Detective Benson, and here's the warrant for the patient list."

"Nice to meet you, Detective," Nicole said, very politely, then motioned for them to follow her into her office.

"Nicole," Olivia started as they walked in, "we're asking for the list because we have reason to believe Angela's killer stalked her before kidnapping her. We think he might have posed as a patient of hers."

The woman seemed shocked. "Oh my God," she said.

"Did she have any new patients, anyone who started seeing her recently? Say a few weeks or months?"

"Several," Nicole said, typing quickly on her computer. The next second, the printer started making noises and spilling sheets of paper. "But I think all of them are women. Most of her patients are women, she works with rape victims."

"Right," Olivia said. "So male patients would definitely stand out?"

"Yes, I don't even remember seeing any male patients lately," Angela said. "But we don't always have the same schedules, sometimes she's here earlier in the morning or later in the evening. _Was_ here," she corrected herself, shaking her head.

The printer went silent, and Nicole collected the sheets, stapling them together and handing them to Olivia.

"Thanks," Eric said. "You've been very helpful."

Olivia perused the list quickly on their way out and called the captain to let him know they had it, but it didn't look promising. All new patients from the previous six months were women, and, among Angela's older patients, there were only a couple of men. In light of that and the fact that it was almost 9 PM, Cragen told her to call it a night and bring the list to the precinct in the morning.

When Eric offered to take her to dinner, Olivia remembered she hadn't even had lunch that day, so she said yes, even though she instantly regretted it, wishing she could just go home and be alone instead. Too tired to protest, she let him take her to a restaurant nearby that he claimed to know, as well as choose the food and wine. She had a generous glass of the beverage before the food arrived, glad that it helped her relax, slowing down the thoughts in her mind.

As they ate, they also talked; Eric seemed interested in knowing more about Olivia, and he timidly restarted the flirting they had begun in the morning, to which she didn't object and maybe even encouraged, with the incentive of the wine. She spared him of the ugliest details of her story, revealing only that both of her parents were dead and she had no other close family.

"Quite like our victims," she said jokingly, but it came out bleaker than she had intended it to.

Eric placed his hand on top of hers, lightly stroking it with his thumb.

"Don't go down that rabbit hole," he said softly, looking at their hands.

"I know," she said automatically, aware that she was already deep down into the hole.

"Really," he said, now looking at her very seriously. "Don't do that to yourself, you don't deserve it."

She scoffed. "You barely know me."

His eyes didn't falter. "I know enough."

Eric drove her home afterwards, and Olivia realized how tired she was; it had been such a long day that it had felt like three. He pulled up in front of her building.

"This is me," she said softly. "Thanks a lot, Eric. I really enjoyed your company. You're a nice guy." After saying it, she noticed she meant it.

He smiled. "I enjoyed your company too. You're an extraordinary woman, Olivia."

Olivia wanted to turn around and open the car door, but she hesitated. She saw his eyes wander down to her lips, knowing she was encouraging it, and she didn't do anything to stop it. He approached her cautiously and kissed her on the mouth, softly, slowly. His lips were warm and gentle, and it felt good to be kissed, to feel wanted.

He paused for a moment, giving her a chance to speak. "This is a bad idea," she whispered, knowingly not sounding convincing.

He smiled, his forehead touching hers. "It will be a good idea as soon as the case is closed and we don't have to work together anymore."

He kissed her again, now less softly, open-mouthedly, and she followed his movements. A minute later she pulled back, holding his chin, their mouths still brushing lightly.

"Then maybe we should wait until then," she whispered, her eyes still closed.

"Maybe," he said, seizing her lips again.

It felt good to know he wasn't going to break the kiss suddenly and say he was sorry because he had a wife. This was easy, innocent and good, and it took her mind off Elliot and his betrayal. It was all she needed at the moment. She wouldn't have imagined she would end up kissing Detective Downey on their second day working together, that was exactly the kind of thing she never did, but she figured she deserved something easy, innocent and good for a change, so she allowed herself to enjoy it.

After a few minutes, Olivia broke the kiss herself; she wanted badly to invite him up, but she knew she had already strayed far enough from her usual boundaries that night. Eric didn't offer any resistance, allowing her to walk into the rain, cold as it touched her skin. Already inside, she saw through the glass in the lobby that he waited until she had closed the front door behind her to drive away.

* * *

It started raining while Elliot was at the precinct waiting for Olivia to return with the patient list. He couldn't stop thinking about her reaction and her words. _I'm done with you_, she had said. He hoped she would be calmer when she came back, and that they could talk without fighting. He was willing to apologize, since she had seemed really hurt, but he didn't regret talking to the captain. He would always look out for her, whether she liked it or not.

"She's not coming back," Cragen said, startling him into a straight sitting position. He looked at the captain, shocked, wondering for a panicked moment if he meant she had left the unit. "I told Liv to call it a night, and you should too."

Elliot sighed, relieved. Then, resigned, he went home. He almost drove to Olivia's place, he actually started to drive that way, but then he decided to give her some time, let her sleep on it. He would too, and hopefully they would both be in better shape to talk in the morning.

He arrived home in time to watch some TV with his kids and play a little with the baby. It was good to spend time with his children, but he knew he was also avoiding spending time alone with Kathy.

When they had all gone to bed, she told him how she loved seeing him spend time with the kids when she lay down next to him, and he was thankful for her rose-colored glasses and how they were keeping her from noticing any changes in his behavior.

"Me too," he said vaguely. "Really recharges my batteries."

"How's the case going?" she asked.

He thought about Olivia's breakdown. And then her second breakdown, and her threats, and her words. And the fact that the investigation was leading nowhere so far. "It sucks," he said simply, in a final tone, and Kathy didn't ask for more information. Thankful again, he turned his back to her and closed his eyes. "Night."

Like he had done in the last few days, Elliot left before Kathy woke up in the morning. He wanted to be at the precinct early so he could exercise a little and take a shower before starting the day. As he did that, he wondered how mad Olivia would be when she arrived. She was already there when he went downstairs, already in his work clothes. She seemed focused on something she was reading and he hesitated to approach her.

He noticed that her shoulder tensed when he passed by her desk. "Morning," he risked.

She raised her head, serious, but looking peaceful. "Morning," she said, before getting back to her reading.

Her reply had been cold, but Elliot took it as a good sign that she had looked at him and replied after her strong words the day before. Maybe she had realized she had overreacted. Detective Downey walked into the squadroom then, with two coffee cups in his hands, and Elliot wanted to roll his eyes at this new little habit.

"Morning," he said, smiling, and Olivia raised her head to look.

She seemed embarrassed, but smiled, taking the coffee he handed her. "You're spoiling me," she said, then took her first sip.

"Is that a problem?" he said, lowering his voice, but Elliot heard him. He also put a hand on her arm and squeezed lightly before he sat down on the chair next to hers. "What are you working on?"

"I'm cross-checking Angela's patient list and Elizabeth's client list, but I can't find any matches. Also, Elizabeth's name is not among Angela's patients, so there goes our theory for a connection between them."

"What about Angela's recent patients?" Elliot asked, intentionally bursting their little exclusive bubble. Olivia didn't look at him, remaining focused.

"Oh, yeah, all her new patients were women," Downey explained like it was old news, even though it was the first Elliot heard of it. "There are two male names among the older patients, we'll check them out today."

Elliot wondered if _we_ included anybody else besides the cute couple. He noticed Munch was watching the whole scene, looking entertained. He threw Elliot an amused look, nodding in Olivia's direction, and that told Elliot he wasn't the only one who had noticed Olivia and Downey's sudden closeness.

Fin arrived then, and after the good mornings, Elliot approached Olivia's desk. She looked up at him inquisitively.

"So where's the list?" he asked.

Wordlessly, she handed him a copy, then stood up and walked over to Fin's desk with her own copy, her coffee cup and her leather jacket under her armpit.

"Don't sit down," she said. "Let's go interview one of Angela's old patients, a... Seth Cooper."

"Okay," Fin shrugged, throwing a confused look at Elliot, who stood, unmoving, watching them leave.

"I guess that leaves the other name to us," Downey said to Elliot, standing up and starting to walk. "Come on, Detective," he said, and Elliot, mesmerized, had no choice but to follow.

"Have fun, boys," Munch said, staying behind and smiling to himself.


	6. Red light

6 - RED LIGHT

_I felt tears plunging out of my eyes as I ran down the stairs and out the door into the rain, but I had no time, not to wait for the elevator, not to cry, not to worry about getting soaking wet. I had been the biggest idiot in the whole world and now, because of me, Olivia was in danger. I couldn't get the image of her empty apartment out of my head as I drove, way over the speed limit, but with no destination; I had no idea where she was. _

_And the last time I had seen her, hours earlier, she had been so mad at me, and now so was I; I had let her down. She deserved so much better than that. I'd missed the chance to actually tell her how I felt, and now she might never know._

_No! I couldn't entertain those thoughts. Now that the veil had been pulled from over all of our eyes, we'd be able to understand what was really going on. We would find her. We had to. I called Munch to tell him she wasn't home, and he told me the whole cavalry was back at the station; nobody would rest until she was back home safe and sound. _

_I headed to the precinct; driving around wouldn't get me any closer to finding her, but investigating might. Before I realized, I was getting off the elevator at the squadroom floor and walking in without any memory of actually driving there._

"_Elliot," said the captain, as soon as he saw me, visibly concerned. _

"_It's my fault," I said. "I should have known. And now she..."_

"_Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your ass back to work," he spat at me. "I need your head in the game, is that clear? This is Olivia."_

_I knew that he loved her like a daughter, and he knew that I loved her like… He knew it. That look we exchanged with each other said just that. I nodded._

"_Understood, captain," I said, my focus renewed. _

_This was Olivia, and every minute spent losing my shit over her disappearance was another minute she was gone, God knows where, being tortured, waiting for me to find her. I wasn't going to let her down again. I would find her, and once I did, I would never let her out of my sight ever again._

* * *

Taking aside the fact that Olivia had refused to work with him and that he hadn't liked this guy from the first moment he'd seen him, Elliot was actually glad to be going out in the field with Downey; at least he would get a chance to interact one on one with him and hopefully get to know him better. He didn't like working with different people because he was all about trust; everyone in the squad was above suspicion and he was sure he could put his life in the hands of any of them, but there was no way for an outsider to earn that kind of trust in just a few days.

Even though he was trying to ignore it, Elliot also knew that one of the main reasons why he didn't like Downey was the fact that he and Olivia seemed to be getting along – maybe a bit too well, even. They were sharing a desk, bringing each other coffee, going out in the field together and who knows what else. He was actually a little surprised that she had gotten so close to him so quickly, her trust wasn't that easily earned either, but it occurred to him that maybe this was his fault; she was feeling like she couldn't trust him, so she needed someone else to rely on.

That thought made him feel guilty; it all had started with that stupid kiss. Maybe she had trusted him to respect the boundaries between them just as much as she had always respected them, and he had broken that trust. And then there had been the Cragen thing, which he had done with the best of intentions, but it had backfired, because it had driven her farther away from him when he needed to keep an eye on her the most. He needed to fix that.

But first, he needed to focus on the task at hand. He was driving with Downey to go talk to one of Angela Stevens' male patients, a Carl Hughes, who had been her patient for a couple of years.

"Liv said he has no rap sheet, no record, not even an unpaid ticket," Downey was saying as they walked into the apartment building, and Elliot took note of the fact that he had called her _Liv_.

They arrived, and Elliot knocked. After getting no answer for about thirty seconds, he knocked again, harder this time.

"Maybe he's not home," Downey said, in a tone Elliot interpreted as reproachful.

The door opened suddenly, and through the space allowed by the safety chain, Elliot could see a blond-haired, chubby guy with a beard.

"Mr. Hughes?" he asked, showing his badge. "Police, we need to speak to you."

"Is this about Dr. Stevens?" Carl asked anxiously.

Elliot and Downey exchanged a look.

"It is, actually," Elliot replied, furrowing his brow. "May we come in?"

"Okay," Hughes replied, closing the door to remove the chain then opening it again so they could walk in. "Don't mind the mess, I work from home."

"Oh really?" Downey asked, looking at Elliot again. "What do you do, Mr. Hughes?"

"I'm an accountant," he replied prissily, removing some papers from the couch to make room for them to sit. "I heard what happened to Dr. Stevens on the news."

Elliot sat down, and Downey sat next to him. Hughes made some room in a chair for himself to sit across from them.

"How long had you been seeing Dr. Stevens?" Downey asked.

"About two and a half years."

"Can I ask why you were seeing her?" Elliot asked cautiously.

Carl Hughes hesitated. "Do I really have to tell you?"

"We know she usually worked with sexual assault victims. Was that your case?"

Hughes looked down, shuffling his hands together anxiously.

"Look," Downey started. "Detective Stabler works with sex crimes, so he's heard it all. I can give you some privacy if you prefer to tell him. I need to use the john anyway, do you mind?" he stood up, moving towards the hallway.

"Second door on the left," Carl instructed, then waited for the detective to close the door to look at Elliot again. He cleared his throat, looking from his hands to Elliot and back. "I was abused as a child," he finally revealed, hesitantly.

"By a family member?" Elliot asked softly.

"By a cousin. I had never told anybody."

"And what made you seek therapy?"

"I had trouble…" he seemed to be searching for the right words. "Being intimate… with my girlfriend at the time. She eventually left me."

"The problems started suddenly?"

He looked away from Elliot. "I kind of always had them."

Elliot nodded cautiously, seeing that Carl was watching for his reaction. "Was therapy helping?"

"Yes… slowly. Dr. Stevens said that I needed to confront what's in my subconscious to address the symptoms on the surface."

"Makes sense. Carl, just for the record, where were you Tuesday night?"

"I was here, all night."

"Alone?"

"Yes," he replied, agitated.

Downey was returning then; he stood near the couch, but didn't sit back down. Elliot took a couple of pictures from out of his pocket.

"Mr. Hughes, do you know these women?" he showed him the pictures of the Brooklyn victims, Anna and Elizabeth.

Hughes stared at them for a few seconds, then shook his head. "I've never seen them before."

"Okay, thanks for your time, Mr. Hughes," Elliot said, standing up and nodding at Downey.

"Thank you, Mr. Hughes," the detective said, shaking the man's hand before following Elliot out of the apartment.

As they went down the four flights of stairs, Elliot was thinking that maybe Downey wasn't that bad. Of course, he had stayed out of his way for most of the interview, but that alone got him a few points.

"That was a good call back there," he admitted when they were already outside, walking back to the car.

"I figured you'd deal with it better than me," Downey replied, shrugging. "I also took the opportunity to go through his medicine cabinet." Another good call. Elliot waited for him to describe his findings. "Quite a few antidepressants and antipsychotics."

"Angela must have prescribed them."

"Not all of them," Downey raised his eyebrow. "Now my question is, why does he need two psychiatrists?"

"Catch this other doctor's name?"

"A Conrad Smith," he said, reading from his notepad. "Maybe we could have a little chat with him."

Elliot called Munch back at the station, asking him to check out the doctor's name, which he did immediately; by the time they got back in the car, John had given him an address for the doctor's office. After some time driving in silence, Downey spoke.

"You and Benson, been partners for long?" he said in a casual tone.

Elliot sighed. Why did the guy have to start talking about Olivia just when he was almost starting to like him? "Ten years," he said drily.

"So since she started at SVU then?" he seemed surprised. And so was Elliot to find that he had that piece of information. He must have earned it along with the right to call her _Liv_.

"Yeap."

"She seems like a great partner."

Elliot rolled his eyes at Downey's comment. He knew the drill; this wasn't the first guy to approach him seeking information about her. They always started with that kind of comment as if they weren't forcing the issue, as if she had casually been brought up in the conversation. He waited for Downey to say what he actually wanted to say.

"Look, man, I'm going to be honest with you," he said eventually. "I'm… she's… I know we just met, but I… I can't get her out of my head."

Elliot tensed up. He wasn't expecting that kind of intensity. He cleared his throat before speaking, trying to sound impartial. "And why are you telling me this?"

Downey hesitated. "You know… I just want to make sure that… I'm not getting in the middle of something."

Elliot cleared his throat again. "Of course not. I'm married."

"Yes but… you never know…"

"Well, like I said, there's nothing to get in the middle of," he reinforced impatiently.

"Okay. Sorry, I just… I could've sworn there was something."

"Why would you think that?" Elliot retorted, annoyed at Downey's insistence but, if he was being honest, a little curious as well.

"Well, don't take this the wrong way, but you act very territorial around her."

"She's my partner, I look out for her," he defended himself. "You have a partner?"

"Not currently, no, but I used to. I had a partner for eleven years. Todd Anderson was his name. Maybe you heard of him, he died in the line of duty two years ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Elliot softened his tone a little in light of that new information.

"Thanks. I guess I didn't look out for him as I should've…"

"Well, there you go, you know what a partnership is like. You feel responsible." Elliot hated that he was justifying himself.

"Maybe it's harder with a female partner. Maybe the lines get blurred sometimes?"

This guy wasn't an idiot, he might even be a good guy. But Elliot knew he would never think anybody was good enough for Olivia.

"It can be a little confusing," he admitted, shrugging.

"I can imagine, especially with a partner like Olivia, I mean…" he trailed off, letting Elliot fill in the blanks.

He was probably referring to her looks, but if only it were that simple. If only her looks were the only thing or even the main thing about her. How could Elliot explain? Well, he didn't have to. He didn't have to explain a damn thing to this idiot.

"I'm thinking of really going for it," Downey said, as though thinking out loud.

"Well, you don't need my blessing," Elliot replied harshly, hoping he would take the hint and shut up about this.

Downey chuckled. "No, I know. But I can tell she really cares about what you think."

That surprised Elliot. "I care about what she thinks too. We're partners."

"Right, of course," Downey replied, then finally shut up for the rest of the drive, which Elliot was immensely thankful for.

* * *

"Wow, what a nutjob!" Fin smiled as he and Olivia walked back to the car. "I know she was a _shrink_, but..."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "It's a myth that only crazy people need therapy, Fin."

"That's not the case with_ this _one, that's for sure."

Seth Cooper, the patient in Angela's list she and Fin had gone to interview, seemed like a possible person of interest. He had no alibi for the night of Angela's murder and he seemed emotionally unstable. For one thing, he hadn't let them into his apartment, saying he didn't trust the police. He also spoke too fast and in a stream of consciousness that often didn't make sense for the people listening outside of his head.

That wasn't much to go on, especially given that any suspect in this case had to be linked to all three victims. He'd said he didn't recognize Anna or Elizabeth when Olivia showed him pictures of them, but he had barely looked at them anyway; he kept most of his attention focused on the voices he mentioned hearing, and he'd even shushed them a few times so he could listen. She figured he might be off his meds; according to Angela's schedule, he was supposed to see her the next day, so he might need a refill. She tried suggesting someone to work with him now that Angela was dead, but that was when he had closed the door saying he was done talking.

Olivia's cell phone rang in her pocket; she checked and saw Elliot's name flashing on the screen, but she really didn't want to talk to him yet. She knew it would be about the case, but she also knew that if she didn't pick up, he would try Fin, so she put the phone back in her pocket and got into the driver's seat of the car. When Fin sat next to her, his phone rang, as predicted. He answered it as she maneuvered the car into traffic.

"That was Elliot," he said after hanging up. "Theirs doesn't have an alibi either, but he has another doctor."

"Another psychiatrist?"

"Yeah. He said they'll talk to him right now."

"That's weird," she said, frowning.

Olivia entertained the idea of Eric and Elliot working together; it was ironic and almost funny, considering they were the main burdens in her mind at the moment. She got lost in thought about it as she drove. She'd had trouble sleeping the night before; after Eric had dropped her off, she'd taken a shower and gone straight to bed, still feeling the light buzz from the wine she'd had at dinner. That had helped her fall asleep, but she'd woken up only a couple of hours later. By then, the wine had worn off, and she couldn't help but regret getting that close to Eric.

She couldn't even understand exactly why she had done it. She felt like nothing had quite been the same since the night Elliot had kissed her. It all had started then, and this case they were on wasn't helping at all. It was like all the things about her and her life that she used to take for granted were now up for reinterpretation. As she'd lain awake trying to fall back asleep, she'd considered that maybe the unbalance in her relationship with Elliot was causing, or at least fueling, her overall instability.

As much as she might not want it to be so, he was important to her, perhaps the most important person in her life. Who else? She had no family of her own. The only family she'd ever had was her mother, who hadn't exactly been someone she could count on unconditionally, and she was gone, had been for about nine years now.

Maybe her experience growing up with her mother was one of the reasons why she had never really allowed herself to need or depend on anyone. Even with her friendships and relationships, it was like she always kept a bag packed, a lifeboat close by so she could save herself in case everything fell apart.

And it was also true that her job made it very difficult to keep close friendships, as with her late hours and unpredictable schedule, she ended up drifting away from people. The same went for relationships, with the added bonus that the fact that she worked with sex crimes always ended up weighing somehow on her boyfriends' opinions of her. Some would be judgmental, never really being okay with her line of work, others would get turned on by the wicked things she saw; the better ones would end up realizing she was damaged. Whatever the reason, nothing really lasted long in that area.

Parallel to that, she'd come to depend more and more on Elliot. The job forced her to trust him with her life, which hadn't been difficult, and with time and the lack of other meaningful relationships in her life, he had become the longest, closest one she had. His importance in her life went beyond any romantic or sexual feelings, which undeniably existed. If she was being really honest, it scared her to wonder just how crucial he was to her existence.

It all had started with that kiss; it had put all of that at risk, all of which he meant to her, all of which he represented. She didn't know a life without that relationship anymore, so she dreaded anything that might jeopardize or even change it. Troubled as it might be sometimes, this relationship with him was the most dependable thing she had in her life, and any threat posed to it was a threat to everything she knew. It was too big a risk to take.

And with all the feelings this case brought about, the last thing she needed was to be at odds with him. On the contrary; as much as she wished she didn't need anyone, she knew she needed him now. When Cragen had summoned her to his office to ask if she was all right, she had become so blind with rage that she hadn't realized that maybe she wasn't all right. She had been so overwhelmed with feelings of betrayal that she hadn't considered that Elliot might be onto something; maybe he knew her too well, better than she knew herself.

All of those thoughts and fears had kept her up all night but for the occasional half-hour blackout. As a result, when her alarm had rung that morning, waking her up from one of those uneasy naps, she was more exhausted than when she had gone to bed, and with a pounding headache to boot.

Despite the physical effects, the long night of broken sleep had helped her make two important decisions. For one thing, she wanted to take a step back in the whole Eric thing. As good as it might have felt or might sound, there was enough going on right now without adding a potential new romantic relationship. When he had arrived that morning, however, smiling and bringing her a coffee, she had realized it wouldn't be that easy; she had remembered how he had made her feel good. Maybe in light of all the loneliness she was confronting, having someone willing to get closer had felt like a relief. But she was determined not to get carried away.

The second decision she had woken up to was that she needed to fix the whole mess with Elliot. She knew that one might be even harder to accomplish, and when she had seen him that morning, she had doubted whether she was ready to talk. That was why she had decided to partner up with Fin when she saw him arriving; that way, she could put off dealing with both Eric and Elliot.

"_Liv, it's red!_" Fin called out urgently, forcefully removing Olivia from her thoughts, just in time for her to hit the brake.

The car screeched loudly to a halt over the crosswalk. The pedestrians threw her disapproving looks as they walked around the car on their way to the other side of the street. Olivia sighed, relieved, then looked at Fin.

"I didn't see it," she breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"You just got distracted," he replied reassuringly, but she could tell he was alarmed as he stared at her, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down from the fright.


	7. Protector

7 - PROTECTOR

The water felt good as it cooled Olivia's face. She looked up at herself in the mirror, watching the drops rolling down her cheeks, then dried them off with a paper towel. The rest of the drive back to the precinct had been awkwardly silent after she had almost run the red light, and even though Fin had been nice about it, she knew that he was now the newest member of the group of worried colleagues who would be watching her every reaction.

Just walking into the precinct and on her way to the restroom she'd had the impression people were looking at her and talking about it; rationally, she knew nobody could have known about the red light incident, but it was a feeling she couldn't shake off. Olivia suspected that now feeling judged and analyzed by everyone all the time was probably affecting her more than the case itself. She was afraid that Cragen might tell her to get off the investigation officially if Fin told him what had just happened. She was afraid that Elliot might say or do something if he knew too.

She stared at herself, wondering what people thought when they looked at her, what they saw. Did they see someone who was spinning out of control? It was weird, sometimes that was what she felt like. She looked at herself and wasn't sure what she saw anymore.

Anyway, when she walked out of the restroom, she had decided to apologize to Fin; whether he would tell anyone about it or not, she had put them both at risk and she should take responsibility for it, she knew that much. He was pouring himself some coffee when she approached him. He silently offered her some, but she waved it off as her stomach immediately manifested its disgust at the idea.

"Thanks," she said. "Fin, I want to apologize for what happened."

"What are you talking about?" he said, feigning ignorance, and she loved him for it.

"On our way back, the red light," she nodded slowly, letting him know it was okay to talk about it.

"Oh, that," he smiled. "I didn't even remember that anymore."

"I should have told you to drive, I didn't sleep well last night."

He nodded understandingly. "That's cool. Nothing happened." After a moment, he turned his body in her direction as the familiar look of worry slowly spread across his features. "You all right with all this?"

Olivia sighed. "No, and I guess I'll stop denying it now before another slip like that happens."

"Maybe you should sit this one out," he suggested lightly.

"I can't," she retorted. "The case is difficult enough even with all hands on deck."

"And borrowed hands," he changed the subject smiling. "So what do you make of Downey? You've been working with him more closely."

She smiled as she remembered just how much closer she'd gotten to the Brooklyn detective. "He seems all right," she shrugged, uncomfortable elaborating any further.

Downey and Elliot walked into the squadroom then, and Olivia was thankful for the change of focus.

"Talked to the other doc?" Fin asked as he and Olivia approached them.

"Yup," Elliot confirmed, taking off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

He glanced at Olivia while she was watching him distractedly, and, taken by surprise, she looked away; she wondered if he had noticed anything weird about her. Was that why he had looked at her? At least he hadn't been the one in the car with her; she was thankful for that, otherwise she wouldn't hear the end of it.

"He wasn't aware that Carl had another doctor or that he was taking other meds," Eric said, enthusiastically.

"He was also surprised to hear about Carl's sexual abuse," Elliot added.

"Maybe he was uncomfortable telling a dude about it," Fin suggested.

"More uncomfortable than telling a woman?" Munch said as he walked in; Fin just shrugged.

"Who's the one he started seeing first?" Olivia asked Eric, purposefully avoiding Elliot, but he was the one who answered.

"Conrad Smith has been his doctor since he was a teenager," he said. "And there's more; Carl said he was abused by a cousin, but Smith doesn't know about any cousins in his family."

"So he made up a story just so he could see Angela?" Munch asked.

"And he has no alibi," Elliot added.

"Should be enough for a warrant to search his place while we bring him over for a chat," Fin said.

The rest of that afternoon was spent investigating Carl Hughes. While Fin and Munch searched his apartment, Olivia and Elliot went in to interrogate him, but he kept denying any involvement in the murders. Later on, Olivia switched places with Eric; she watched it as he and Elliot seemed to work well together interrogating him. It was in vain, though; they never got a confession or anything that could put him in any of the crime scenes.

After Munch and Fin found his stash in the apartment, he confessed that he had never been abused as a child or had any of the other problems he had seen shrinks for over the years; he had been diagnosed as having bipolar disorder, which was the reason he had started seeing Dr. Smith in his teens, but after that he had started seeing other shrinks, feigning issues he didn't have so he could get prescriptions.

He confessed to selling the drugs, but that was the extent to which his criminal activity seemed to reach. Also, even though he didn't have an alibi for the night of Angela's murder, he alibied out for the previous murders, so this was yet another dead end in the case. He would still be in custody until the next day, but if they didn't find anything else to tie him to the three deaths or at least Angela's, they would have to let him go and hand his case over to Narcotics.

George Huang had been observing most of the interrogation from the other side of the two-way mirror with Eric and the captain and, later on, with Olivia. In his opinion, he wasn't the murderer they were looking for.

"He's a sociopath," Huang said to Olivia when night had already fallen. "He's capable of pretending emotions quite convincingly, which is how he was able to fool trained psychiatrists, but he has difficulty recognizing emotion in other people or actually feeling them himself."

"But you don't think he's capable of murder?" Olivia asked.

"He could be capable, but he's not behind _these _murders. The emotions the killer is acting on are real here, not pretend."

Olivia sighed, shaking her head. In her gut, she agreed with Huang, but she had wanted this guy to be the one just so this case could end sooner rather than later. As if he could read her mind, Huang asked her a question.

"How are you holding up?" he said, in a neutral tone. Olivia was taken by surprise, and she wondered if anybody had talked to him; had Cragen said anything? Had Elliot told someone else about her breakdown the day before even after their fight over it? Had Fin mentioned her reckless driving? He rushed to clarify, probably reading her expression. "I ask because I saw how you identified with the victims' profile the other day."

"I've been better," she said, with a relieved half-smile. "I guess I'm getting a bit paranoid about everyone wondering if I can handle myself with this case, to tell you the truth."

Huang smiled. "I'm sure everyone's just worried about you. I don't think anybody would question your ability to do a good job."

She tilted her head doubtfully. "Elliot told Cragen that maybe I shouldn't work this case."

"He did?" Olivia couldn't tell from his tone if he was really surprised.

"I couldn't believe he would go behind my back like that. But I guess it figures… We're in a weird place right now."

Huang crossed his arms as he seemed to be processing the information.

"I can see how that might have felt like a betrayal," he eventually said, calmly. Olivia was surprised that he agreed. "But I understand where he's coming from too. He feels responsible for you, maybe that's because you're a woman and he's such a typical alpha male, the protector. He feels like he's the strongest male figure in your life and that it's his duty to look out for you as such, so if he believes that this case might affect you negatively, it makes sense that he would prioritize your well-being over anything else and try to keep you away from it. I don't see him saying anything to Cragen for any other reason."

Olivia didn't reply. She hadn't thought about it like that at all; even though it sounded patronizing and sexist, Huang's assessment really made sense considering Elliot's personality. She watched him as he walked around the interrogation room with his hands in his pockets, his chest puffed out and his chin propped up. She looked at Huang, suddenly wondering if his understanding of Elliot's psychological profile could help fix their situation.

"Can I tell you something completely off the record?" she asked, and she noticed she had piqued his interest; he nodded in response. "Something happened… Between Elliot and me."

"Something sexual?" he asked like it was the most natural thing in the world, but Olivia was surprised that this was the first possibility he thought of.

"We kissed," she said, figuring there was no point in beating around the bush. "We were drinking..."

"Okay," he nodded.

"It was a mistake," she rushed to clarify. "We both agree. But we can't seem to get past it."

"Why do you think that is?" he asked softly.

Olivia was thrown off by the question. If she knew why, she wouldn't be asking. She should have known he wouldn't give her any straight answers; he was a shrink after all.

"We've had problems before…" she said, trying to explain the situation from a different angle. "When we thought we were getting closer than we should. It took us a long time to recover from that."

"Yes, I know," he said, surprising her again. "Elliot came to my office once looking as lost as you do right now."

Olivia furrowed her brow. She thought the last place Elliot would ever go was to a shrink to talk about feelings. "And what advice did you give him?"

Huang smiled. "He never let me get around to that."

"Now it sounds more like him," Olivia smiled back.

"Why do you think it's so hard for you two to deal with the personal aspects of your relationship?"

Olivia couldn't understand his insistence. What good would it do to know why? He was probably expecting her to say that the reason was they had feelings for each other, but that was not what she was looking for; even if that were true, it wasn't a solution. She began to understand why Elliot hadn't waited around for his advice.

"Look, I know what you're getting at. Again, this is completely off the record…" she figured it was best to be completely honest. She looked through the glass at Elliot as she spoke. "I love him." She paused and looked at Huang, waiting for a reaction, but once again, he didn't seem surprised or affected; she actually seemed more affected and surprised by her own admission than he did. She continued. "The way I feel about him is bigger than wanting to kiss him, wanting to have sex with him. I can live without those things. But I don't think I can live without _him_… in my life. That's why I need to know what to do to make things right."

"Right," Huang said, then he smiled. "That's not what I was getting at, but it's a nice start. I think you should tell him that."

Olivia scoffed, shaking her head. "I can't tell him that!"

Huang shrugged. "I just think that there is a lot between you two that you never talk about. That could be the reason you can't move past this. That's what I was getting at."

* * *

With a sigh, Elliot stopped when he got to her door. She had already left when he and Downey finally finished the interrogation for the day, still with nothing concrete except that Hughes didn't seem to be their perp. When he and Downey had gone back to the squadroom, Captain Cragen had told them to go home. He hadn't wanted to go home, though; first, he needed to see Olivia, try to fix things between them. He had waited for a chance to have this conversation for twenty-four hours now, and it couldn't be delayed any longer.

He didn't have much planned, but he would try to apologize for breaking her trust and see where it went from there. He took a deep breath and knocked. About thirty seconds later, the door opened and she appeared, looking surprised.

"Elliot," she said, her expression quite hard to read; he couldn't tell if she was glad to see him there or not.

"Can we talk?" he asked urgently.

She hesitated for a moment, then let him in, without replying.

"I've been meaning to talk to you all day," he said, walking in past her hesitantly. "Since last night actually."

"I wanted to talk to you too," she replied vaguely.

He turned to stand in front of her and blurted out his attempt at an apology. "Liv, I'm sorry about yesterday, telling Cragen. I just did what I thought I had to do. Like I said, I'm worried about you, that's all."

She nodded. "I know. But can you still trust my ability to do my job?"

Elliot frowned. "Of course, I never said I didn't."

She sighed. "Okay. Then I think we should just forget it and move on."

He took a step closer to her, puzzled. "What about all the stuff you said, that you were done with me?"

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I was upset," she said. "I barely remember what I said."

He waited, but she didn't say anything else. "Okay," he said eventually. "So we're good?"

She took a deep breath. "That's the question. We weren't exactly good before that, were we?"

Elliot didn't reply; it sounded like a trick question. He wouldn't have known the answer anyway. She looked down again, then took another deep breath, as though gathering courage. "I need for us to go back to how things were… before…"

He finally understood. "Before I screwed everything up," he thought aloud.

Olivia smiled, shaking her head. "It's not all on you," she said, looking up at him again and letting her smile fade. "I kissed you back."

"Liv…" He wished she hadn't used that word, but she continued despite his weak protest.

"I'm not going to lie to you," she said, blushing slightly as she looked away. "Kissing you… you think that hasn't popped into my head from time to time? But…" he saw the glint of tears in her eyes as she looked up at him again, and her voice broke once when she spoke. "You're _way_ too important to me. If that's going to get between us… then we can't have that."

Elliot nodded, sighing. He was surprised by her confession, and he was even more surprised by the disappointment he felt hearing her last words. He knew she was right though; what good did it do to know the thought of something between them had crossed her mind too? What could he do about it? He didn't have an answer, so he just nodded.

"And you're not wrong," she said, looking down again. "This case is affecting me in ways I can't understand. I need you by my side."

"I am," he rushed to clarify. "Always. You need to know that."

She smiled, nodding. "So we're good?" it was her turn to ask.

"We are." Elliot approached her, watching as relief washed over her face; he sighed, relieved as well.

"Good," she said, wiping a tear before it fell.

In a sudden urge, he put a hand on her back and pulled her into an embrace. She was startled at first, but then she gave in to it, circling his waist with her arms and resting her head on his shoulder. He took a hand to the back of her neck, running his fingers through her hair. How could she ever think he wouldn't be by her side? For any reason?

"You're important to me too," he whispered into her hair.

After a couple of minutes, she pulled away. "You should go home," she said with warning in her tone, forcing a smile, but he could tell she didn't want him to go.

"Yeah," he agreed, not wanting to go either, but this was how this whole mess had started in the first place. He had a home to go to, a clear line he couldn't cross, and it was time to steer clear from it. "Yeah, I should."

She ushered him to the door and opened it for him. Elliot gave her one last look before walking through it, still replaying her words in his head. _Kissing you. You think that hasn't popped into my head from time to time? _He couldn't let that go; he wondered if she would be urging him to leave like this if he didn't have a wife and kids at home waiting for him, if she would still think this could get between them. He needed to know.

It was as if this crack had opened up for a couple of seconds through which he could get a glimpse at a different reality. _If that's going to get between us…_ But what if it wasn't? He felt like the chance to look through the crack wouldn't be arising again anytime soon, so he had a very small window of opportunity here to know more about it, to see what it might look like. He gave into that impulse.

"Just answer me one thing," he turned around to face her again, interrupting her as she was closing the door. "What if I didn't have to go? Would you want me to stay?"

He saw it as she took a large intake of air and her eyes widened with shock.

"Elliot…" she pleaded next, staring intently at him, that warning now looking more like panic.

He approached her again, standing very close now, trying to sift through the layers of feelings in her eyes, trying to read past the fear and find that she was longing for him to stay – he knew it was there and he wanted her to acknowledge it. He only needed an answer; he was absolutely okay with pretending he hadn't heard anything afterwards, pretending he had actually left when she'd told him to.

"No, please, just tell me…" he whispered.

Tears threatened to come out from her eyes again. "Please…" she said almost soundlessly.

Elliot sighed, realizing he was being a jerk. If knowing she'd want him to stay wouldn't do him any good, what good would it do her if she answered? Even if her answer should be yes, she would still have to watch him leave and stay there, alone. He nodded, resigned and ashamed. "Sorry… Good night," he said, already walking away without looking back this time.


	8. Old wounds

8 - OLD WOUNDS

It was early when Olivia arrived at the precinct. She'd had another almost sleepless night, with thoughts about the case and about Elliot racing through her mind the entire time. He wasn't there yet, and she felt relieved; she was putting off the moment of seeing him again after the night before, even if it was just for a few minutes.

They'd just had a boundary-defining, line-drawing conversation when, out of the blue, he had decided to ask her if she'd want him to stay if he could. What kind of a question was that? What exactly had he expected to hear? Maybe she shouldn't have told him she'd occasionally thought about kissing him; the whole point had been to close the matter, not raise more questions about it.

She had only tried to be honest, as Huang had suggested – it occurred to her that maybe Elliot had tried to do the same. Maybe honesty wasn't the answer at all, maybe Huang's observation of their relationship over the years hadn't granted him the ability to measure the magnitude of the iceberg whose tip they had tried so hard to ignore and managed to sail around safely for so long.

As there wasn't any coffee in the squadroom's coffee maker yet, Olivia went upstairs to the lounge to see if there was any there. She found Eric looking very tired and frustrated, sitting on the couch.

"What's the matter?" she asked, walking towards him.

"Hey, good morning," he said, straightening up on the couch as he saw her. "Nothing. Just sick of this case. I've just let Carl Hughes go."

Olivia sighed, sitting down next to him. "I know," she agreed. "I stayed awake most of the night reviewing everything we have so far. Or what we _don't _have."

Eric nodded, then sighed, throwing his head back against the backrest of the couch. Olivia wondered if he had anybody to talk to about the case, anybody to help him deal with it. She sat there for a few minutes, trying to think of something reassuring to say; she couldn't. Maybe she needed some reassurance as well.

"You know," Eric said, still resting his head and staring at the ceiling. "I keep thinking if Todd were here, if he would think of something I'm not thinking, see something I'm not seeing."

"Todd?" she asked softly.

"Anderson," Eric said, raising his head again to look at her; it was a strange look, she thought, as if he expected her to know who he was talking about.

_Todd Anderson_. Indeed, the name sounded familiar. Had he mentioned it before? Olivia felt guilty; maybe he had told her that night they'd had dinner, she had absolutely no recollection of what they had talked about then. But the next second, that look on his face vanished. Maybe she had even imagined it.

"My old partner," he said, his eyes darkening: it was obvious Todd hadn't just transferred or left. Maybe grief was the strangeness she thought she'd seen.

"What happened to him?" she asked cautiously.

"He was shot," he replied, looking down, then raised his eyes to look at her again. "We were chasing a suspect in a warehouse, we split up and I lost sight of him. I heard the shot, but when I got there, he was already down, and the suspect had escaped. There was never any hope. He was already dead when I called it in."

"I'm so sorry," she said, touching his hand.

"Me too," he replied, looking down.

Olivia didn't know what to do; she wanted to comfort him somehow. She stood up, remembering why she'd gone up to the lounge in the first place. To her relief, there was coffee there. She served two paper cups and went back to the couch, handing Eric one of them.

"Got any of your special sugars on you?" she asked jokingly, trying to cheer him up, and she was glad that it earned her a smile.

Eric searched through his pockets and found one small packet. "It's yours, I insist," he said, taking part in the joke and pouring the contents into her cup. "I just wish we actually had a lead that led somewhere. "Everything we've done so far has been a waste of time."

"I know," Olivia agreed. "We'll find something."

When they went down the stairs to the squadroom, Olivia saw Elliot standing there, next to his desk, rolling up his shirt sleeves. He looked at her with an enigmatic expression, but, whatever it was, it seemed friendly, which was a relief after that ambivalent ending to their conversation the night before. She stopped by the coffee maker and added more sugar to her coffee as an excuse to look away. She walked to her desk and sat in her chair across from Elliot, avoiding his stare as Eric gave him the update about letting Hughes go.

"There was no use in keeping him any longer," Elliot commented matter-of-factly. "He won't confess because he's not the guy."

Throughout the day, the squad selected and interviewed potential persons of interest in Elizabeth Moore's client list, which they had been checking before Hughes had become a suspect, but that didn't seem to turn up anything promising either. The main problem was that no one they checked had a connection with all three victims, and there was otherwise no way to connect all three of them. Without that, there wasn't much they could do. Olivia just hoped nobody was taken or killed in the meantime.

Later that afternoon, the team was gathered in the squadroom, quite unsure of what to do next. Olivia was rummaging through folders with profiles, pictures, lists, her mind working fast over the catalogue of separate puzzle pieces; she came across the patient list from Angela and Nicole's office, and it gave her an idea.

"What about Nicole's patients?" she asked, and received surprised looks as replies. "We only checked Angela's. We have nothing right now, so maybe we should check them out. It's possible he started to see Nicole to get closer to Angela without raising suspicion, or maybe he was even already a patient and that's how he met her."

"It's thin, but it's something compared to all this nothing we're swimming in," Cragen said impatiently.

Olivia remembered the thirty-something guy coming out from Nicole's office and the bad feeling she'd gotten from him. She remembered she had seen in Nicole's calendar in her office that his last name was Wyatt and made note of it, so she looked for his name through the list.

"Eric, do you remember that guy in Nicole's office the other night?" she suggested, excited.

"The one that wasn't happy to see us there? Yes, I do," Eric replied.

"I want to start with him."

"What's the name?" Elliot asked, ready to type on his computer.

"Jordan Wyatt," she informed, then stood up and walked towards his desk to watch as he searched for the name. Eric followed and stood by Elliot's other side.

"Well well," Elliot smiled at Olivia. "He has a record, any guesses on the charges?"

"Stalking?" she leaned in to confirm she was right.

"Apparently, two ex-girlfriends have restraining orders against him."

"Got an address?" Eric asked.

"Yes," Elliot took his notepad to write it down.

"Let's go," Olivia said impatiently, grabbing her coat.

Both Elliot and Eric also made movements indicating their intention to come along, and Cragen took a diplomatic approach.

"The three of you go talk to him; Munch, Fin and I will stay here checking the rest of the list for priors."

* * *

After a silent car ride, the three detectives pulled over in front of the building where Jordan Wyatt's address was listed. Elliot had been stealthily watching Olivia as he drove; her left leg wouldn't stop twitching with what could only be anxiety. He could tell she had a strong gut feeling about this guy, especially after he had mentioned the restraining orders, and it scared him a little that she might be taking this a bit too personally.

"That's him," she said when the car had barely stopped moving, pointing at a guy walking towards the building carrying groceries, and in the next second she was out of the car, running.

"Olivia!" Elliot called out, rushing out of the car with Downey, but she was already chasing Wyatt, who had sprinted away, the groceries dropped and forgotten behind him.

Elliot and Downey had no choice but to pursue them as well, and as they all raced through the surrounding alleys, Elliot noticed that Downey seemed to be trying to outrun him, which made him push himself harder. Downey reached Olivia first, running next to her after the perp and a little ahead of Elliot, and it occurred to him that this had been his intention all along; to reach her and not outrun _him_. He felt silly.

The fact that it was almost completely dark didn't help him see much ahead of him, but he saw a chain-link fence that was hopefully going to be the end of the chase. To his surprise, however, he heard the loud, unmistakable sound of a gunshot, then saw Downey throwing himself towards Olivia, knocking her to the ground under him.

"Drop it!" Downey shouted, quickly getting back on his feet, and now Elliot was close enough to see he was pointing his gun at Wyatt, who also had a gun pointed back at him. "I said drop it!"

With his own gun in hand, Elliot ran the last steps that separated him from Olivia to check if she was wounded. "Olivia! Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she said, holding on to the arm he had pulled her up into a sitting position with. She also pulled her gun, and now the three of them were aiming at the perp. "It's over, Wyatt," she said. "Drop the gun!" Her hands were shaking.

"Drop yours first or I'll shoot," Wyatt replied, quite exasperatedly, which gave Elliot the impression he hadn't thought this through at all.

He looked fixedly at Downey, probably wondering what to do to get out of this situation, and he seemed determined not to put his gun down. He continued to point it at Downey, like his arm was frozen, and Elliot could see he was shaking, his finger dangerously near the trigger. He started to move his arm to the left, towards Olivia, and Elliot wasn't sure if he was going to point the gun at her or lower it, but he never got a chance to find out; Downey shot Wyatt point blank on the forehead.

Olivia went to check on Wyatt and take his gun, but Elliot already knew she wouldn't find a pulse. Eric Downey's arm was still stretched out in Wyatt's direction, paralyzed. Elliot approached him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"He was going to shoot her," Downey said, his voice quavering. "He was going to shoot."

"It's over," Elliot reassured him. "You did good."

Downey's hand dropped slowly, and both of them watched it as Olivia called it in through the radio. Elliot felt the air escape his lungs as he thought about how Downey had saved her life, maybe twice, in the last few minutes.

"Thank you," he said, with a squeeze of appreciation on the detective's shoulder.

* * *

She hadn't noticed right away, but when she had fallen against the ground after Eric had pushed her away from the bullet's path, Olivia had hit her head, and a small cut had started to bleed. She could barely feel any pain, which she attributed to the adrenaline; it must also be responsible for the persistent twitching of her left leg as she sat on the ambulance gurney against her will.

The male EMT, who had already bandaged her forehead, now checked for reflexes with a small white flashlight whose light she was supposed to follow with her eyes. For some reason, he did it all over again, not looking satisfied with his first assessment, but then, resigned, he put the flashlight away and wrote something down on his chart.

"Can I go?" she asked, trying to conceal her impatience. The EMT nodded, and she nodded back. "Thank you."

Olivia walked towards the brown sedan, against which Elliot was leaning, arms crossed, a severe expression as he seemed to stare at nothing in particular. Eric had already left in a patrol car, he needed to give his statement about the shooting to Internal Affairs as part of the protocol. As she approached Elliot, his face turned to her, and she saw his brow furrowing and his eyes narrowing. He didn't even wait for her to stop walking to speak.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he spat.

Olivia's eyes fluttered with shock; what was he accusing her of now? She never got to ask.

"Why did you start running like that?" he continued, glaring at her.

"I saw that he was going to run," she replied, furrowing her own brow.

"He ran because you did!" he raised his voice.

"I had to think fast…"

"You had to follow protocol! What the hell were you thinking going rogue like that? You didn't even know he had a gun. He could have killed you!"

She took a deep breath. "Elliot, I'm not in the mood, okay?" she said, starting to move away. "Now go tell daddy what I've done if you want, I don't care."

He held her arm forcefully, pulling her back towards him. "What's going on with you? It's like Jekyll and Hyde!" he loosened his grip on her arm and softened his voice. "What about the stuff you said last night? That you needed my help to deal with this case? All I see is you acting on your own, like I'm not even there. What are you doing?"

Olivia remembered that she didn't want to fight anymore, but why couldn't he just cooperate? She took another deep breath.

"I don't need you scolding me and patronizing me, that's definitely not what I need," she explained, containing her voice.

To her surprise, Elliot didn't defend himself. He simply let go of her arm, sighing, then spoke, looking away. "I'm sorry," he said. "For a minute when you fell, I thought…"

Olivia realized he wasn't mad at her, even though lashing out at her was his way of expressing pretty much any feelings. Upon his surrender, though, she decided to give in as well. She took a step closer.

"Maybe it was a bad move," she sighed, thinking that maybe if she hadn't chased Wyatt, he would still be alive.

Elliot just nodded, looking away from her, as the black body bag containing their suspect rolled past them towards the coroner's car.

"Just try to be more careful, okay?" he said after they had watched the vehicle drive away.

* * *

Olivia waited for Eric at the precinct; she wanted to thank him properly for saving her life. She had been reckless in her decision to chase after the suspect, and Elliot was right; she could have been shot if Eric hadn't been able to push her away from the danger. When he finally returned, he looked incredibly tired and drained.

"Desk duty?" she asked, standing up to meet him halfway.

"Actually no," he replied. "I was surprised too, but I guess they need everyone on this case. They did recommend counseling though."

"Yeah, it's standard procedure after a shooting," she stated lightly, aware that he knew it.

"It's bullshit," he complained. "They made me go once, after Todd died. All it did was bore me to death."

Olivia didn't know what to say, but being reminded about his partner's death made her wonder how that might have influenced his actions that day, how he hadn't hesitated to shoot Wyatt before he shot any of them. It also made her feel guilty about running after the perp on her own like that, putting herself in danger and putting Eric in that situation where he had to act fast to protect her life. She thought about how that must have opened that wound, brought back those feelings about the situation with his partner, and it made her feel even more grateful for his actions. She took a step closer to him, with a small smile, and put her hand on his forearm.

"Look, I wanted to thank you," she said.

"Olivia…" he started to protest, but she raised her free hand to stop him.

"Please, let me say this," she tightened her grip on his forearm a little. "I shouldn't have run like that, if it hadn't been for you, I could have been the one in the body bag."

Eric shook his head slowly, and for a minute Olivia had no idea what he was going to say; but if he was going to give her a hard time for running, she would take it. She deserved it.

"It's not your fault," he eventually said, softly. "It all happened too fast. I'm just glad you're okay. That we're all okay."

Olivia smiled, realizing how relieved she was that he hadn't scolded her. She let her hand slid down his arm until it reached his hand, and when it did, he circled it with his fingers firmly, making sure they didn't lose contact.

"Let's get out of here," she said.

Her idea had been to take him somewhere to eat or have a well-deserved drink, but what she ended up doing was hail a cab to take them both to her place. Not much was said on their way up the stairs and into the apartment, and as soon as the door was closed, they gave up words altogether for communicating.

Olivia kissed him passionately, running her hand through his hair and pressing her body against his, hoping to convey all her appreciation, thankfulness and newfound admiration for this guy who barely knew her but was willing to protect her with his life and his shield without the need to accuse her or blame her for anything in return. He was just glad she was okay; no scolding, no judging, no lashing out.

She had the impression that he was hesitant as she led him to her bedroom, but once he realized he had the green light, a switch flipped and he began to strip off her clothes with urgency, a balanced contrast between tenderness and intensity as he followed light-feathered kisses with bites, as he touched her skin slowly, reverently, then moved forcefully against her, seeking the closest, deepest contact.

Olivia hadn't planned on going to bed with Eric, but she also hadn't planned on having her life saved by him, or even on recklessly risking it in the first place. She hadn't planned on stumbling upon a case that was opening every single one of her deepest, best hidden wounds, or needing someone as badly as she did right now. And even though she would think and even wish that person would be Elliot, in any capacity, the truth was he wasn't there and would never be, not entirely hers, like Eric could be and seemed to want to be. She needed to face that. She needed to accept that she deserved better than the little Elliot could give her. And she could have it; she had only just begun to see that.


	9. Reflection

9 - REFLECTION

The case was as far from being solved as it had ever been, with every single lead shut down, and with their most promising suspect to date killed. Even though the shooting had been ruled as by the book, Elliot knew 1PP was pressuring the captain to find a link between the dead suspect and the murders; if they could prove Wyatt was indeed the serial killer they'd been chasing, that would solve all problems and tie all loose ends, covering NYPD's collective ass for the sloppy death of a suspect and instead making them heroes for stopping a violent killing spree.

Even with all of that weighing on everyone's mind, all Elliot could think about was how he had seen Olivia and Eric Downey arriving together, him in his clothes from the night before, sneaking into the cribs to change before officially appearing in the squadroom as though he had just arrived, alone, the already traditional cup from the coffee cart delivered to her and returned with a smile, today definitely a much more lighthearted, open, intimate one.

The whole world was in flames around them, and all he could think about was how obvious it was that Olivia and Downey had slept together after his heroic act of saving her life. And the worst of it all was that he was thankful to the son of a bitch as well.

He watched them all day, the occasional touch on the arm here and there, they even went out to have lunch together, just the two of them, without inviting anyone else. It was driving Elliot crazy; he wondered if they really went to a restaurant or if they spent their lunch hour elsewhere.

He kept searching for a valid argument to tell Olivia she shouldn't get involved with Downey; one of the best ones he could think of was the fact that the case was making her unstable, that it was certainly not the moment to get involved with anyone, especially not a detective who was also working the case. But he knew he couldn't say anything. Good argument or not, it was not his place to say it. Especially not when their relationship was already strained. And also, would he be really thinking of her by saying something? Or was he thinking of himself?

In the end, he didn't say anything; they actually barely spoke about anything other than the case for the next few days, which were spent investigating Jordan Wyatt's life. The team split up to interview his neighbors, co-workers, the few friends he seemed to have, an estranged sister. He worked as IT tech support for a small company, lived in a cheap, one-bedroom apartment and went to counseling once a week as part of the deal for one of the stalking charges but, according to Nicole, they weren't making progress in his therapy because he didn't make any effort, he just went to the appointments and barely spoke about any issues.

He didn't seem to be close to any family members, with both parents dead and a sister who didn't seem affected when she heard of her brother's death. She was reluctant to talk to Munch and Fin, who had gone all the way to Staten Island to interview her, saying she wouldn't be much help since she hadn't seen or heard from her brother in years. The only thing she said about him was he had always been abusive and violent towards everyone around him; his co-workers and neighbors, on the other hand, portrayed him as a nice, quiet guy, who kept to himself.

The team also talked to some of his ex-girlfriends, more importantly the two who had restraining orders against him. While Downey interviewed one of them, called Amber Hodgins, Elliot and Olivia partnered up for the first time that week to interview the other one, Caitlin Wagner. They drove to the store where Caitlin worked as a manager to speak to her, and she revealed more details about Wyatt's abusive behavior towards her.

"He changed completely after we moved in together," she told them. "It was almost as if he'd been pretending earlier, like it was a trap, and then he showed who he really was."

"What did he do then?" Elliot asked.

"He wanted to control everything." She started crying while she spoke. "What I wore, who I was friends with, where I went. He had all my passwords, he controlled my bank account, he wanted me to prove I really was where I said I was… If he didn't believe me or didn't like something I did, he'd slap me, punch me. Once he knocked me to the floor and kicked me in my stomach. Then afterwards he would apologize, treat me like a queen for days, promise he would change. But then it always started all over again. It was hell, I couldn't take it anymore."

"And how did you manage to get out of that relationship?" Olivia asked.

"One day I just didn't go home after work. He usually picked me up, so I left earlier and went to a colleague's place he didn't know about. The next day, I went to the police."

"I'm glad you had the strength to do it," Olivia said softly, with a hand on Caitlin's arm. The girl smiled sadly.

As they walked back to the car after the interview, Olivia seemed distracted, processing something in her mind.

"Are you all right?" Elliot started carefully.

"Yes…" she replied, then hesitated before continuing. "I was just trying to imagine what it must have been like for Caitlin, not having control of her own life. Being completely vulnerable, at someone else's mercy… It's not that different from the torture our victims endured, it's just a slower, more gradual form of torture… But not any less cruel, I think."

"This could really be our guy," Elliot said, to which she nodded.

"Now we just need to connect him to Anna and Elizabeth," she pointed out.

That was the hard part; so far, nothing seemed to connect Wyatt to either of the other victims; Elliot wished Wyatt were still alive to be questioned.

He observed Olivia as they got into the car; she still seemed distracted, and he wondered if she was still thinking about Caitlin Wagner.

"And… How are you?" he decided to ask, figuring he hadn't checked in with her in a while. "With everything else?"

She shrugged, looking straight ahead, as she seemed to be assessing that right then, unable to come up with a readymade answer.

"Better, I think," was the conclusion she eventually voiced, not clarifying any further.

Elliot wondered if Downey was the reason for her positive evaluation. He hated the fact that this stranger had a more positive impact on her life than he did these days, that he had easier access to her even though they'd met five minutes ago, and that he had felt the need to wait for a moment alone with his own partner in order to ask her how she was, because apparently she was seeing this guy now, a guy who knew how she was doing without the need to ask, because he got to be near her and see it for himself.

It was a childish, possessive reaction, he thought, and he was mad at himself for not being able to control it. He'd never felt this way about any of Olivia's boyfriends before; maybe it was because he got to see this happening from a front row seat, maybe it was because this was such a strange moment in his relationship with her, maybe the most confusing the boundaries between them had ever been, when they had both admitted, in as many words or not, to having feelings for each other, or at least being attracted to each other.

But this was supposed to be good; whatever those feelings were, were they really going to address them? Was he going to leave his wife, his family? Were they going to risk their partnership, all in the name of those feelings that, for ten years, had never even been mentioned? They weren't. This was supposed to be a good thing: Eric Downey was a good guy who genuinely cared about Olivia. As a friend and as someone who had her best interests in mind, shouldn't he find that a good thing?

* * *

It took Detective Eric Downey a few moments to notice Olivia's presence behind him as he stood in the middle of the squadroom, gazing at the victims' pictures on the screen, looking lost in thought. When he did notice her, he turned around and gave her a big smile; it was good to see someone so happy to see her, so she smiled back.

"Hey," he said, and she noticed he suppressed a movement to approach her, probably for a more intimate greeting, stopping himself when he realized it would be inappropriate to do so at work.

Elliot approached them then, with two coffee cups in hand. He offered one to Olivia, which surprised her. She thanked him, but when he spoke, she finally understood his ulterior motive. "Sorry, Downey, I only got two hands." He smiled teasingly.

"It's all right, Detective," Eric said, not looking affected. "I'm actually glad you two are back, I was just waiting for you."

"What's up?" Olivia asked, frowning.

"You're not going to believe this, but I finally found a connection to one of our previous victims."

"You did?" Elliot looked incredulous.

"Amber Hodgins, Wyatt's other ex? After breaking up with him, she dated no one other than Robert Keen."

Olivia opened her mouth in shock. "Anna Perkins' boyfriend?"

Eric nodded, smiling triumphantly. "They dated for a few months just before he met Anna."

"What are the chances?" she mumbled, still processing the information.

"In the city? Very slim," he said, cheerful.

"Okay, but how does that help us?" Elliot challenged, crossing his arms defiantly. "So Robert Keen and Jordan Wyatt dated the same woman, how does that tie him to the murders?"

"It doesn't specifically, but let me show you something," Eric replied as though he was thankful for the chance to show off. "Here, right after Anna's murder, we looked through surveillance video from her apartment building, her gym, and the advertising agency. And what did we find? Well, at the time we didn't know who he was, but look who was seen several times in the vicinity of the agency where Anna and Robert worked?"

Elliot and Olivia approached the screen to see the still image Eric was showing, but she only recognized the person in the picture when he zoomed in: it was Jordan Wyatt. He showed a series of other stills where Wyatt appeared on different occasions.

"I'll be damned," Elliot mumbled. "Son of a bitch!"

Olivia wondered if the son of a bitch was supposed to be Wyatt or Eric.

"This is from a surveillance camera across the street. My theory is he started stalking Keen, maybe he even targeted Anna to get back at him for dating his girl."

"Which is why she didn't fit the profile exactly," Olivia added. "Because this one was personal."

"And he was surprised by the high he felt," Eric described, looking excited. "So he needed to do it again and again to try and reproduce that high."

"We still need to find a link to Elizabeth Moore, an explanation for why and how he chose her," Elliot reminded. "We've checked and he wasn't a client. No one in her life remembers ever seeing him."

"I'm sure we'll find the link," Eric said, optimistic, borrowing Olivia's cup for a sip of her coffee, and Olivia felt it as Elliot immediately tensed up next to her.

After the break in the case with the connection between Wyatt and Anna Perkins, the team's focus on the next few days was on trying to find that connection with Elizabeth Moore. It was indeed a difficult job to investigate a suspect's connection with the crimes without being able to question him. All the work they were doing now could have been spared with a few hours in the interrogation room. Anyway, that was all they could do now, and proving Wyatt's connection to Elizabeth Moore was the last step in a long, tiresome, emotionally challenging case that the whole team couldn't wait to close, so whatever work it took, it would pay off in the end.

After another long day of field work, Olivia and Eric were the last ones in the squadroom. She was so tired that just getting up to go home seemed too demanding, making sitting in her chair in front of her computer more inviting just for the fact that it required no extra effort besides breathing and existing. She couldn't remember ever feeling so physically tired, even though her mind had never felt so agile, agitated yet focused; it was working on overdrive ever since the beginning of this case.

Eric's company was an unexpected, pleasing relief. Ever since that first night they'd slept together, they had been pretty much inseparable, both at work and outside of it. As it turned out, Eric was pretty much as lonely as she was; both of his parents were dead as well, his mother more recently deceased as he had told her before. He had no brothers or sisters or any other close family living in New York. And, of course, his partner and longtime friend had also died, as he'd told her, in the line of duty, no less.

It was easy being around him. Olivia couldn't help but feel like this was right; through all the chaos of this case, all the sadness and cruelty and loneliness it brought up, for two lonely people to meet and find out that each other's company was a good thing, a light at the end of the tunnel, some hope amidst all the ugliness surrounding them. Something good that could come out of all this.

She noticed that he was getting ready to leave. He now had his own makeshift desk, near Fin's, and he was straightening his stuff on top of it, then putting on his suit jacket. He turned around and looked at her before making his way towards her desk. She smiled and he returned it, crouching before her to speak in a low voice.

"I need to go home tonight," he said. "I'm sorry."

They had spent almost every night together since that first one, always at her apartment, never his, since hers was closer to the precinct. She didn't object, as she felt better in her own place, sleeping in her own bed. He'd gone home a couple of times to get stuff, but he already had so many things over at her place that she'd even cleared a drawer for him to store all of it.

"That's okay," she assured him.

"But maybe we can get some dinner first?" he offered.

A dinner was too long, she was way too tired for that and not nearly hungry enough. She also didn't offer to go with him to his place – she didn't want to. She just wanted her bed, and she was secretly and surprisingly glad she would have the opportunity to enjoy it alone for the first time in the last several days.

"How about a drink instead?" She countered. "I could really use one."

A drink was good; they wouldn't have to go far, and the alcohol would certainly help slow her mind down, make it work in a rhythm that better matched her body's. By committing to a drink, she didn't say no to him, but also got to go home sooner and get some well-deserved rest.

"Great idea," Eric smiled, taking her coat and holding it out until she stood up to take it.

They walked to the nearest bar, which was actually the one where Elliot had kissed her. Olivia hated that this was the first thing on her mind as they walked in, but she figured she had only remembered it because that had been the last time she'd been there.

Olivia had been keeping a safe distance from Elliot ever since her relationship, or whatever it was, with Eric, had really started. Even though they had talked and theoretically solved their issues, or at least agreed they wanted to put them behind them, Eric's presence didn't seem to allow them to get closer again, which was probably for the best anyway. She knew she had been too tough on Elliot through that whole Cragen episode, but the truth was she had been relying too much on that relationship, and any threat to it made her too vulnerable, too fragile. It was like being with Eric reminded her what it was like to have someone entirely to herself to rely on, instead of depositing all her expectations on a work husband, someone who could only be there for her while they were on the job.

As she walked into the bar with Eric, looking for a table, Olivia decided she didn't want to think about Elliot at all. Getting that drink was urgent; she needed its help to drive those thoughts of him away. Not a second after that decision, she realized that would be much harder than she'd thought, because she saw him sitting at the bar, with a drink in hand, which he raised in a greeting. Even from a distance, she could tell that he was drunk.

"Looks like Elliot also needed a drink tonight," Eric commented, amused, already walking towards him before Olivia could object.

As they approached, Olivia saw it as Elliot took in every detail about them, including Eric's hand on the small of her back as they walked together. Suddenly overwhelmed with the awkwardness of the situation – she had never really discussed Eric with Elliot –, she excused herself to go to the restroom as soon as they reached the bar.

"Want me to order a glass of Cabernet for you?" Eric asked, touching her arm, while she felt Elliot's eyes burning her skin.

"Sure," she said distractedly before rushing away.

The male and female restrooms were across from each other, and there was a common sink between them with a big mirror that people coming out from both doors could use. Olivia didn't need to do anything, so she only stood there, looking at her reflection, thinking. She had only wanted to have a drink, it had never occurred to her that Elliot could be there too and that this could become the most awkward social gathering she could have ever imagined. She decided to wash her face just so she would have something to do, hoping it would also help her calm down and figure out her next step.

As she bowed towards the water she had scooped with her hands, she felt a presence behind her, and part of her already knew who it was even before she looked up at the mirror to check, letting the water escape from between her fingers. Elliot stood there, looking into her mirrored eyes with an unreadable expression. Before she could say anything, he took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers.

"So you're seeing him?" he demanded firmly, his chin up in the air as he spoke.

"I don't know, sort of," she replied, surprised by his bluntness at first, then outraged that he had the nerve to confront her like this, like he had any right to. "It's none of your business."

Olivia saw anger slowly painting his eyes, like a dye contaminating the water it's been dropped into. She knew he wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words. He had no right to say anything, and in that moment she saw how much he hated that. It was almost satisfying; he was jealous.

She dried off her hands with a paper towel wishing his closeness didn't affect her so much, but she was pretty sure he could tell it did. When she looked away to discard the wet towel, he approached her even more, leaning on the sink with both hands, each on one side of her, his arms touching hers, his chest against her back, caging her in, forcing her to stay where she was. What the hell did he think he was doing?

"I don't like it," he said through clenched teeth, staring her down in the mirror.

"That's your problem," she challenged, then turned her face towards his. "Can I go now?"

"Do you like him?" he completely ignored her real face as he still stared at the one in the mirror.

"Why do you care?" Olivia turned to face him in the mirror again; she was split between the satisfaction of watching him struggle with these feelings and the anger at him for feeling like he was entitled to her somehow.

When Olivia thought it was impossible for him to get any closer, he moved his head next to hers over her shoulder, touching her cheek lightly with his. "I want to know," he said, still holding her reflection's gaze, breathing heavily, and she felt the vibration of his voice across her body. He looked down at her neck, approaching it with his mouth and nose, and she could feel the hot air coming from them against her skin; there was no way he wouldn't have noticed the shiver he caused.

"Does he make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up like this?" he placed a kiss behind her ear, to her shock, then moved to the back of her head, barely touching, his lips brushing against the surface as he noisily took her scent in; if Olivia wasn't looking right at it, she would doubt it was really happening. She wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn't. It was as if her body's reactions were a liquor, getting her drunk on him, impairing her judgment, her reflexes. Her eyes involuntarily closed.

One thing she knew: trying to pretend was useless. "Please, don't do this…" she simply pleaded.

"It's killing me to see you with him," he whispered into her ear, circling an arm around her shoulders and giving her an open-mouthed kiss on the neck. "Makes me want to shoot the son of a bitch."

"Elliot," she whispered, but then he circled his other arm around her hip, pulling her flush against him, and she could feel his erection pressed against her ass. "Stop this, you're drunk. We'll both regret this in the morning." She opened her eyes hoping to gather more courage, to sound more convincing. "Go home to your wife."

That seemed to rattle him. "What do you want me to say? Huh?" he dove into her neck, no hesitation now, kissing, biting, marking her skin. She closed her eyes again, completely powerless. "That I can't stop thinking about that kiss?" he rode her blouse up, touching her bare stomach with his hand, and the direct contact elicited a gasp from her. "That I fuck my wife thinking of you? Wishing I was with you?"

Did he think this was hot? Telling her that he wanted her against his will, that he wished he could be with her but couldn't? She opened her eyes and stared at herself in the mirror, taking in the image of Elliot holding her, kissing her neck. It looked like an alternate, reversed version of reality, like this mirror was a window into something that could never be on this side. And yet, even in the mirror she could see the golden, accusing glint of his wedding ring on the hand that surrounded her hips. She felt dirty and pathetic.

"I definitely don't want you to say that," she replied to his rhetorical questions, still watching him in the mirror and holding onto his arms as they squeezed her, not sure if she was trying to remove them or keep them there.

"How does an idiot like that deserve a woman like you?" he said, kissing his way through her nape to the other side of her neck and sending yet another wave of chills down her spine.

"He's not an idiot," she defended, trying to speak louder than her body. "And he's not married."

That paralyzed him. He emerged from her neck and stared at her from the mirror again, now with defeat all over his face. Part of her was disappointed that he didn't fight harder to continue, but that was what would always happen. Even if he gave into his feelings for her, whichever they were, at some point he would stop himself, apologize and leave. She saw the glint of tears in her own eyes, but never allowed them to come out; her expression toughened up as his grip around her loosened.

When she was able to move, she turned around to face him, the real him, not his mirrored, alternate version. There wasn't any glass between their eyes now as he listened to her.

"So you have a hard-on for me, Elliot? Great. But do you have the balls to own up to it? Would you be here touching me like this if there was no Eric, no Kathy? No safety net? No alcohol to justify the error in judgment? No 'I'm sorry, I can't do this'?" She waited a second, her chin quivering, but there was no reply. "That's what I thought."

Defeat again. She felt guilty for a split second as she watched his pained expression, but she knew she was right. He was the one who should feel guilty for doing this, dangling the carrot in front of her, having her run on the treadmill after it, never able to reach. Look at what you can't have. What a son of a bitch. A silent, immobile son of a bitch, staring back at her with that pained, defeated expression, pleading for something he'd never voice and she'd never dare guess.

"Excuse me," she whispered, moving away from him and leaving him alone with his mirrored version.


	10. Golden ring

10 - GOLDEN RING

_We'll both regret it in the morning_. He already regretted it now. _Go home to your wife_. He wanted to break something. When Elliot went back to his stool at the bar, Olivia and Downey were already gone. He pounded on the counter, making quite a few glasses jump and spill some of their contents, but none of their owners noticed or cared enough to throw him so much as a disapproving look. At this point, that would have been enough to earn a punch in the face from him, which he would have gladly delivered just for the hell of it. He drank up his warm, stale beer and left some money under the glass before leaving.

_Go home to your wife_. Well, that's exactly what he was going to do. Because he did have a wife, he was blessed with five children, and he was very grateful for all of it. Or did Olivia think he wasn't just because he was attracted to her? _Do you have the balls to own up to it_? He had the balls all right, but he also had a responsibility, and six people who depended on him financially and emotionally. How could Olivia know anything about that? All she'd ever known was taking care of herself, she didn't know anything about putting other people first. His life was all about putting other people first.

He couldn't just give in to his whims, his desires, he had a lot to think about before he could make any decisions. Anything he ever did affected many more people than just himself. That's what she couldn't understand. How could she understand? Downey really must be the guy for her; he was as much of a loner himself, and together they might learn to put each other first instead of themselves. The perfect symbiotic relationship. Good for them.

_He's not married_. Was that all it took for a guy to earn her trust? He had seen her arriving with him, his hands on her, like that guy knew her, like he knew her better than he did, he who had known her for ten years. And it wasn't like she was enjoying it or even welcoming it; she seemed to be just going along with it, numb, like she was hypnotized or something. It made Elliot want to wake her up, confront her, but it had gotten completely out of hand. When he got near her, he couldn't help himself, and before he realized, he was all over her, claiming her as his when she wasn't. But how come she wasn't? In that moment of alcoholic insanity, it didn't seem like she wasn't.

Still, it was no excuse for going after her like that, getting close to her like that, touching her like that, showing just what she did to him when he couldn't act on it. The power she had over him but which he could never let her wield. How crazy it was making him to see her with that guy. What the hell had he been thinking? It didn't matter how long he had been drinking at that bar and how many shots and beers he'd had, there was no excuse for what he'd done. And yet, as much as he kicked himself for it, he couldn't get over the scent of her hair, the taste of her skin. What was going on with him?

Elliot checked his phone; it was already half past eleven, and Kathy had called four times. There was also a text message from her asking if she should wait for him to serve dinner. Well, that ship had sailed long ago, and she would be mad when he made it home. Great; all he needed after this ridiculous scene was a fight with Kathy waiting for him. _Go home to your wife_. Why did those words make him so mad?

It only took a few seconds into the house for Kathy to emerge from somewhere, probably the living room, chasing after him as he went for the stairs.

"Why don't you answer your phone? I was worried, I was calling your desk, there was no answer. I tried Olivia's cell, but she didn't…"

"Why would you call Olivia's cell?" he blew up, not letting her finish. "I wasn't with her."

"Then who were you with?" She looked surprised, outraged even. "You weren't working?"

Elliot sighed, realizing his reaction had created room for an argument he definitely didn't want to have. His guilty conscience had made him assume she was accusing him of being with Olivia outside of work, and now she would demand to know why. He decided to start it all over again, now less sloppily.

"Honey, I don't want to argue, okay?" he approached her, trying to control his voice. "I'm sorry I didn't answer my phone. Now, I had a long, hard day and I really need a shower."

"Have you been drinking?" she must have smelled the alcohol on his breath.

"Goddamnit, Kathy, I don't have time for this!" he rushed up the stairs and headed for their bedroom with her on his heels.

"Why don't you just talk to me?" she demanded, whispering until they were past the baby's room. "What happened today?"

It was always the same thing. She wanted to know every gory detail, every thought that went through his mind. She shut the bedroom door.

"It's not anything you need to know," Elliot said cryptically, feeling caged. "You know I don't like to talk about work at home."

Another mistake; as soon as he'd said it, he knew what the retort would be.

"Yes, the only one who understands is Olivia," she said, like clockwork. "Were you having drinks with her?"

"I already said I wasn't with her," he raised his voice.

He suddenly remembered the smoothness of Olivia's skin when he'd ran his hand up her blouse. The weakness in her knees against him as he touched her, her breathy voice pleading for him to stop.

"Why are you lying about this?" Kathy was saying. "I know you go out for drinks with her sometimes, I know you need to talk about work sometimes, why are you trying to hide this from me? Is something _else _happening?"

Something like what? Like grinding against her as he licked her skin?

"For Christ's sake, Kathy, don't start! Nothing is going on! She even has a boyfriend now, she's seeing a guy from work."

Even though she didn't like him. Even though he didn't make her knees weaken like that, didn't cause waves of chills through her body like he could.

"Oh," Kathy nodded, as though she had finally understood something. She smiled and bit her lip. "That's it then."

Elliot didn't understand whatever leap she had made. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He squinted, confused.

"You weren't drinking about the case. You were drinking because Olivia has a boyfriend, and you're jealous."

"What? Don't be ridiculous!" He turned away from her.

It wasn't about jealousy, how could she understand? He just couldn't handle watching Olivia fool herself with a guy she didn't care about, a guy she barely knew. Just because he had helped her dodge a bullet? It was like she thought she owed him something. But Kathy would never understand this if he tried to explain.

"I'm the one who's being ridiculous?" she scoffed. "Do you even believe yourself right now?"

"You've lost your mind..." he muttered.

Of all the things she could have figured out; the kiss, the encounter outside the restroom. This wasn't jealousy. Was it? And even if it were, was she going to audit his thoughts now?

"I'm not an idiot, Elliot. I know you. I knew there was something on your mind, I just didn't know it wasn't the case."

"What the hell are you talking about?" She was being so unfair. "Every night I'm here, spending time with you and the kids. What else do you want from me?"

"I want you to tell me the truth," she said simply. She seemed to be getting calmer instead of angrier; it didn't make sense. "I know you're trying really hard to make things work between us, but I need to know if that's what you really want."

_I just don't think that's what we wanted… getting back together. _That's what he had told Olivia right before he'd kissed her. But it was a choice he'd made, it was the right choice, and he would stand by it.

"Why else would I be here?" he said.

"Then tell me you don't have feelings for Olivia," she walked to him. "Tell me you didn't get drunk because you're jealous."

"Kathy, come on…" He pleaded. "I thought we were past this stupid thing with Olivia."

"Is it? Stupid?" It didn't sound like an accusation; instead, she looked sad. A tear rolled down her cheek. "I know you don't want to feel this, you want to do what you think is right. But being the right thing to do isn't good enough for me."

Elliot didn't know what to answer to that. Kathy didn't look mad, he couldn't read her at all; he couldn't have guessed what she expected to hear, so he settled for silence.

"You have feelings for her, you've had them for a long time." She wiped that tear. "The sooner you admit it to yourself, the better it will be for everyone." She approached him, arms crossed, as though holding herself. "You don't love me anymore."

Elliot closed his eyes, sighing. "Kath… Of course I love you. I'll always love you. You're the mother of my children."

"I know that," she smiled, blinking out another tear. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. You have reasons to love me, you don't just… love me. I know how that feels, this isn't just you. We're not in love anymore."

She took his hand, squeezed it, rubbed it with her thumb lovingly. He didn't understand why she was so calm, why she wasn't screaming. She looked up at him and smiled as another tear rolled down. Then, with her other hand, she removed his wedding ring, forcing him to look down; he was surprised by how easily it just slid off and how much lighter his hand felt. After letting go of him, she removed her own ring, then made a fist around both of them, pressing her lips together.

"I don't want us to start resenting each other," she said. "We have so many good memories and five beautiful children. We've been luckier than most."

Elliot was speechless, paralyzed. All she was saying made sense, but he wasn't prepared to hear it from her. Kathy, on the other hand, seemed like she'd been rehearsing that conversation for a while. After those words, she deposited their rings on her dresser and locked herself in the bathroom, leaving him completely clueless. Did that mean the marriage was over? Just like that? He didn't even know what his privileges were right now. Did he even get to sleep on their bed?

He figured that the kids could get scared if he didn't sleep at home or if they saw him sleeping on the couch, so he just stripped to his underwear and lay down, listening closely for any sounds produced by Kathy, wondering if she would come back to talk some more or just leave it at that. Sleep came surprisingly fast, no doubt with the help of the alcohol he'd had, and as he was falling into it, some sort of dream mixed up with reality played in his head, with Kathy, Olivia and Downey appearing as smudged silhouettes in a scene he had no understanding of. Somewhere in the middle of it, he felt Kathy lying down next to him.

Morning came unceremoniously after what felt like just a few minutes to Elliot, and he woke up to a merciless headache. When he looked at Kathy's side of the bed, it was empty, making him doubt whether she had been there at all. He checked his watch on the nightstand: it was actually later than he thought, which meant Kathy had probably gone out to take Eli to daycare, and the twins were already at school as well. With the house to himself, he went for a shower in hopes it would ease the hangover.

_We'll both regret this in the morning_. Olivia's words came back as the water hit him, and he saw it all in his head again, how he had chased after her, demanded to know about Downey, told her how it bothered him. Held her, kissed her. He had behaved like a boy in puberty, letting his impulses rule him, his body act on its desires without the filtering of reason. But maybe that first kiss weeks ago was a can of worms that could not be unopened, or even could, but doing so would be useless, as it was already empty, all worms out, lost, out of control and causing mayhem.

_You don't love me anymore_. It wasn't that simple; he wished he could make Kathy understand. It wasn't just a matter of loving her or not, it was a matter of making decisions that would affect their children. This wasn't just about love, it was about responsibility, and Elliot knew well what his responsibilities were. He knew and followed them so well that he wasn't even used to listening to what his feelings were. In that sense, love was also a choice, and he chose his family, he always did, it was his duty. And it wasn't difficult either: it was more than twenty years of a life that he liked and that was, honestly, all he knew.

_Tell me you don't have feelings for Olivia_. That he had feelings for Olivia wasn't exactly news to him. But he wasn't a twenty-something guy without any strings attached and a whole life ahead of him, he couldn't just decide that these feelings were strong enough to justify throwing that whole life out the window. And this wasn't just a physical thing, something that might be solved in one night, a lust, a curiosity. This was a person that he valued and cherished, and if he were to ever really act on anything concerning her, he knew it would be a life commitment; he wouldn't risk their partnership for anything less.

Elliot finished getting dressed and, when he was about to leave, he noticed that now only one wedding ring sat on the dresser; his. That meant that Kathy had taken hers, put it on. Maybe she had changed her mind, recognized that she had acted impulsively and that this wasn't something as simple as taking off a ring. He stared at the golden circle for a few moments, trapped; he couldn't move until he decided what to do about it. In a swift movement, he took the ring and put it back on, twisting it around his finger with his thumb as he walked out of the room.

* * *

When Olivia's alarm clock rang, she was already awake after another almost completely sleepless night. She considered calling in sick, she definitely didn't want to see Elliot after the previous night's exchange. She also wasn't looking forward to seeing Eric, as she still owed him an explanation for how she had come back from the bathroom looking like she had seen a ghost or something, rushing him to leave without even sipping her drink.

He had been worried, asked what had happened, even offered to spend the night at her place instead of going home, but she hadn't been able to say much more than enough to assure him she would be fine. She asked him to understand that she just needed to leave the bar and go home alone, no questions asked. But he wasn't stupid; he had seen Elliot go to the bathroom right after her, he had seen the time it had taken her to come back, in that state, and the fact that Elliot had stayed behind. It wouldn't be hard for him to put two and two together and figure it out.

A shower was a good idea, and it helped Olivia make a decision: she wouldn't be intimidated by Elliot. He was the one who had been unbelievably inappropriate and disrespectful, she had done nothing wrong. If anyone had to feel ashamed, it was him, not her.

And yet, she couldn't help but feel guilty as soon as she saw Eric at the precinct. He thoughtfully asked her if she was feeling better, didn't push to know what had happened and even apologized for not having brought her coffee; all she could think about was how she had been fooling herself. He was a great man, offering everything she knew she deserved, but she had realized that many things had led her to being with him except for the right reasons: she didn't really have feelings for him. That made her even angrier at Elliot and what he'd done, because it had irrevocably opened her eyes, and not reciprocating Eric made her feel painfully guilty.

"What have you been working on?" she asked him, figuring work was the best thing to focus on.

"Remember when we searched Wyatt's apartment and turned up nothing?" He walked to his desk and sat down. "Well, I figured he probably didn't keep anything at home, so he must have another place. I came in early to look for something, but so far, nothing."

His desk was complete chaos; it looked like he had gathered the documents, pictures, DMV records and anything else he could on Jordan Wyatt and anyone connected to him in any way, but she didn't know how he was supposed to get any intel from that mess.

"You've checked all of these?" she asked hesitantly, pointing at the piles of documents and folders.

"No," he replied, raising a hand as if to tell her not to touch anything; apparently, there was some order in place that she might disturb. "These haven't been checked yet," he pointed at a big pile that sat in an adjacent chair he had taken on, then at a small, fragile pile that sat completely misaligned on top of one side of a paper tray, the other side barely supported by a pencil and a pair of scissors in a pen holder; Olivia was afraid to breathe around it.

"I'll take care of these first," she said, smiling. "They look more urgent."

"Thanks," he grinned, looking embarrassed in his cute way.

More guilt. Olivia walked back to her desk with the files, thinking about how Eric brought out this lighter, fun side of her, and how ungrateful she was for not being able to value that as she should. She had barely finished that thought when she bumped into Elliot as he rushed into the squadroom. She was able to avoid a collision just in time, but she couldn't escape meeting his eyes for a moment, and that single, touchless contact was enough to bring the night before crashing back; she could feel his breath against her neck, feel his mouth, his teeth. Her involuntary physical reactions.

"Sorry," he said, looking away.

Without replying, she rushed past him and landed in her chair, the evidence pile she had just adopted the perfect target for her full focus and attention. She opened the top folder and read a death certificate over and over again as she struggled to focus; it took her three times to absorb that it belonged to Eleanor Wyatt, Jordan's mother; she had died five years earlier. The next document was her marriage certificate to Jordan's father, Anthony Wyatt, and she noticed it contained Eleanor's maiden name.

"Eric," she called out, standing up quickly. "Did you check any properties under Wyatt's mother's name?"

"Yeap," he replied without turning around. "Nothing."

"Did you check her maiden name?"

Now he turned around quickly, his eyes wide. "No, I didn't. What is it?"

She walked to his desk. "Stuart. Eleanor Stuart."

"What are we doing?" Elliot asked, joining them, his voice defiant, his arms crossed.

Eric looked at him, then at Olivia, and she felt her cheeks blushing as she wondered if he had noticed the tension between her and Elliot, but as he went back to his research, she understood he was only asking her to deal with her partner; she answered without looking at either of them.

"We're looking for properties in Wyatt's mother's name that he could have used as a hiding place."

"I thought this would have been checked by now," Elliot accused, and she felt it as he turned his body towards her. He was trying to pick a fight, after everything he'd already done. "You hadn't thought of that?"

"Nobody did," she said, now looking at him, feeling the anger building up. "I didn't hear _you _suggesting that."

"Maybe you might have if you were actually working with me," he said with a wry smile. "But it looks like you've changed partners without telling me."

Olivia opened her mouth with shock and outrage, but Eric spoke before she could.

"What is your problem?" he asked calmly, still sitting down.

"She doesn't need you to defend her," Elliot raised his voice slightly.

"Back off," Olivia said through clenched teeth, trying to sound threatening while she felt the tension vibrating between them through their intense, angry eye contact.

"Got anything, Detective Downey?" the captain said, walking out of his office, and Olivia noticed that he was scrutinizing her and Elliot.

"I hope so," Eric replied, unaffected, his attention already fully back on his research.

He explained what he was looking for to the captain, but Olivia knew he had come out into the squadroom because he'd heard the argument.

"While he's looking," Cragen started, and Olivia already knew what was coming. "You two: my office."

She avoided Elliot's eyes as she followed the captain, but she was aware of every move he made as he walked behind her. Cragen had obviously picked up on the hostility between them. It didn't help that, once in the closed room, they stood as far away from each other as the limited space allowed. And yet, Olivia felt it as if Elliot were right behind her, his arms around her, his mouth on her neck.

"What's going on with you two now?" the captain asked, looking from her to Elliot and back. "You know what, I don't even want to know what's happening. I just need you to fix it."

"Nothing's wrong, Captain," she started, but he interrupted her with a movement of his hand.

"Don't even try, Olivia," he said, anger trembling in his voice. "I know you know I'm not that stupid."

"What she means is it won't interfere with the job," Elliot said, his voice firm, sending a shiver down her spine as if he had whispered it into her ear.

She hated him for saying that. How come it wouldn't interfere? And how dare he speak for her, explain what she meant? Even if he was just trying to get them out of that room. Before the captain or either of them could say anything else, Eric barged in.

"Sorry to interrupt, Captain, but I think I've got something," he said.

Cragen followed Eric out of the room, throwing them a disapproving look before leaving them alone. "Fix it. Now."

After the door slammed, Olivia looked at Elliot; he stared back at her, his body poised, his arms behind his back defiantly, chest puffed out, a severe expression. After what he had done the previous night, she'd thought he would be regretful, ashamed, but from his behavior in the squadroom and the way he was looking at her, he seemed to think she was the one who had done something wrong.

"Are you going to say something?" She asked eventually, anger boiling inside.

He squinted with what looked like feigned ignorance. "Like what?"

"Like you're sorry." Her voice trembled.

He shrugged. "I'm not."

She scoffed, looking down and shaking her head. She walked to the door, grabbed the handle and looked up again. "Whatever. Let's just walk out of here and act like everything is okay until this case is over, do you think you can do that?"

"You certainly can," he replied calmly, reproachful.

She glared at him, letting go of the handle. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means nothing is okay, but all you do is pretend it is. Especially with your new boyfriend."

Olivia smiled. "You're jealous. You made that pretty clear last night."

"I am," he admitted nonchalantly, surprisingly. "But I also don't like him. I don't trust him."

"Why, because he can actually be there for me?" she challenged, getting ready to leave again.

Olivia saw it as that one seemed to hurt. To her surprise, he walked to her and took her arm to stop her, his fingers firmly holding just below her wrist; with that pressure, he could probably feel her heartbeat increasing in her pulse.

"Maybe I was inappropriate last night, but you're being hypocritical. You were just as into it as I was." He paused and, when he spoke again, he lowered his voice. "You don't like this guy." He was adamant.

She didn't want to admit it or even show that she agreed in any way; it would be too big a defeat. Why was he insisting on proving her feelings for Eric weren't real? Did he want her to force him to face the mirror as well, dissect his feelings for his wife? She figured attack what the best defense strategy.

"Who are you to judge?" she raised her arm, still circled by his hand, showing him his own wedding ring, the cold metal feel against her skin. "Did you go home and make love to your wife with that hard-on?"

She saw rage in his eyes for a second; maybe her truth hurt, but so did his. But then he sighed, and his expression softened. He let go of her arm.

"How I feel is not the point," he said. "The point is you're letting this guy gain your trust too quickly. You're letting him get too close to you without even thinking if you like him enough or not. That's not like you. You're not yourself lately."

Had it occurred to him that maybe she didn't want to be herself? That maybe she was tired of what she _was _like? What she was like was hurtful; what she was like was never letting anyone really get close to her, comparing every guy she met to him and blowing them off when they failed to meet those standards. What she was like was being all alone. She was tired. Why couldn't he just let her fool herself? Pretend she could be happy too? It was easy for him to prefer her as herself, he didn't know what it was like after he went home to his happy family.

"Leave me alone," she said simply. "Judge all you want, I don't care. I'm sick of you and your damn high horse. Screw you."

She opened the door and rushed out, stopping next to the Captain, Munch and Fin around Eric's desk. "Have we got something?" She said, eager to focus on anything else.

"Actually yes," Cragen said, analyzing her.

They were all staring at a map on the screen.

"There's a house in Brooklyn registered under Wyatt's mother's maiden name," Eric said, smiling at her. "It looks like the perfect place."


	11. Paranoia

11 - PARANOIA

Even though Jordan Wyatt was dead, and there was no evidence that anybody lived in the Brooklyn house Downey had found, Cragen had demanded that they took backup and that the whole team wore their bullet-proof vests as they served the search warrant. Elliot could sense everyone's anticipation; this place could be the key to finally closing this case, which couldn't happen soon enough.

Olivia was sitting across from him in the back of the NYPD van, and he couldn't help stealing glances at her every now and then, anger still aching in the back of his throat like the aftereffects of all the yelling he'd held back. After all the confusing emotions he'd been forced to face the night before, seeing her partnered up with Downey at work had been the last straw, the ultimate betrayal. Work was the only place he really could claim her as his; she was _his _partner, and seeing her replace him like that was driving him crazy, making him insatiably furious.

They were already past the gate and the living fence of tall, leafy trees that hid the two-story house. Elliot made an effort to get his head back in the game, focus on the task at hand. On the count of three, the door was broken down, and all officers made their way in, checking every room. Olivia ran up the stairs with Downey, not even ashamed to sport his substitute for everyone to see. Elliot watched it as he signaled he'd go to the left while she nodded and went to the right.

All the downstairs rooms were empty, not only of people: there was no furniture, no curtains or any other signs of recent residents. The only minimally furnished square foot was the living room, with a big fireplace mantel on the side wall, near which there was a small table, cluttered with several notebooks, paper sheets, a few cameras; a lonely chair sat nearby, both of them made of old, moldy-looking wood. Dust covered everything but the items on that table, indicating they had been manipulated recently.

Silence set in as all rooms had already been checked, and as Elliot turned around, he noticed the living room's biggest wall, the same one with the door they'd walked in through and at which he'd only paid attention enough to ascertain there was nobody near it, but at which he now looked, mesmerized. Munch, Fin and Captain Cragen all gathered near him as they also noticed it: it was covered in hundreds of pictures, a mosaic of women in their everyday lives: grocery shopping, coming out of the gym, going to work.

Anna, Elizabeth and Angela starred in the pictures, which seemed to be organized in chronological order. There were also maps on the wall, marked with pins and scribbled up with details about the women's usual spots and daily routines. As the officers started gathering around, Elliot walked past them to the front row before the wall, looking at the photos silently, taking them in, analyzing the details, and the silence was heavy as everyone else did the same. He moved his head to the lower right corner of the wall, where the pictures almost reached the floor, and he felt his blood rushing through his body, pulsating in his neck and burning up on his face as he identified a fourth model in the portraits.

He kneeled down to look again and make sure it was her, but there was no doubt. He would know her face from miles away, in the blurriest image, in complete darkness: it was Olivia. There were pictures of her walking out from and into her apartment building, outside the precinct, talking on her phone, getting off the car with him… She was going to be Wyatt's next victim. And she had almost been, too; he had shot at her.

Getting back on his feet, he turned around to look for her, and found her standing there, her body surrendered, her face blank, a mixture of emotions he couldn't discern. In that moment, she looked at him, realizing what he had just realized and wordlessly communicating she'd reached the end of her rope. He saw the color leave her face and her legs falter, but before he could do anything, Downey had already caught her.

"Liv!" he said, looking worried. "Are you all right? Let me get you out of here."

"No, I'm fine," she said, regaining her balance but walking out with him anyway, the mixture of emotions now completely gone again and replaced by that infuriating numbness. All pairs of eyes in the room watched it as they walked out the door.

Elliot sighed, looking at the captain, who looked back at him with a relieved sigh.

"Downey did save her life with that shot after all," Cragen said.

* * *

There was barely enough time for Olivia to reach the toilet before the puke escaped her mouth, yellowish and watery. The nausea wouldn't go away, but nothing else came out of her empty stomach, only leaving the unpleasant bitterness of bile as the aftertaste. She sat down on the floor, her back against the stall's door, supporting her head with her hands, trying to get her breathing under control. She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling, thinking that this was the first time in a while that she felt connected to herself. _You're not yourself lately_, Elliot had said.

She felt like that physical reaction, that expulsion, was a cry from her body, forcing her to shut the world out, drop everything she was doing and take a look within for a second. She felt like she was waking up from a hazy dream, as though a fog that had been surrounding her had been lifted, helping her realize she had been sleeping for the past few weeks and had now woken up in the middle of this crazy reality, with her life completely upside down.

Her job, which used to be the constant in her life, the one thing she was always able to do, no matter in what circumstances and under which kind of emotional strain, felt completely out of her hands, with a case she didn't feel capable enough to crack, that kept pushing her buttons and causing the most unexpected reactions. Her relationship with Elliot, which could be complicated at times, but was always something she could count on, had completely blown up, with the physical attraction between them taking over in the same pace that their emotional connection got lost somewhere in the middle of the chaos.

And then there was Eric, a good thing in the middle of all that, a guy it felt easy to be with, who was sometimes a relief to all the confusion around her but also who, as she had realized, wasn't someone she was or would ever fall in love with. As much as she resented Elliot for saying it, he was right; it wasn't like her to be with someone she didn't really care about just so she wouldn't be alone.

The nausea had begun when she had first seen her pictures there, exposed on the wall among hundreds of others like an artistic installation, her own face joining the victims' in this wicked work of art, and it had remained as she had seen all the worried faces, received the pats on her shoulder given with deep sighs. Elliot hadn't voiced or expressed his concern, but Olivia assumed it was there, even though these days it wasn't safe to assume anything about him, or about anything else for that matter. At least he was leaving her alone like she'd asked. That was what she wanted, wasn't it?

Olivia opened her eyes to the white porcelain of the toilet and realized that she had fallen asleep right there, sitting against the stall's locked door. And she'd slept deeper than she had in weeks, too. She checked her watch and was shocked to realize it was already ten past three in the afternoon, which meant that, even though she didn't have a clear memory of the time she had come into the bathroom, she must have slept for at least a couple of hours.

Sensations felt less superficial, more palpable, more real: the floor was cold under her, her back hurt from sitting in that position for too long, her neck was stiff, certainly from supporting the weight of her unconscious head in an awkward angle, but her breathing was under control, her heartbeats resembled a normal rate for a change, and her thoughts seemed clearer, feeling a bit less like a thousand screaming voices and more like a silent, empty room.

Her mind was blank but for the image of her own face on that wall, and it occurred to her that Wyatt was not the perp. It was all too perfect for a case that had been impossible to crack from the beginning. For them to suddenly stumble upon a house containing all the evidence they could ever dream of seemed too good to be true. Olivia hadn't been able to trust herself lately, but now her gut was talking, her gut, which had been silent all along, providing no help until now, and she was more sure than she'd been of anything else about this case, even with all the evidence pointing to the contrary.

She stood up with some difficulty, and it took a while to find her balance. She walked out of the stall and towards her reflection in the mirror. When she stood close enough, she could see the exhaustion on her face, the deep, dark circles under her eyes, the whiteness of her lips. She threw some water on her face, dried it off, but her image didn't improve much, except for some minimal color back in her cheeks.

Cragen, Munch, Fin, Eric and Elliot were all gathered around the screen as she walked into the squadroom; they were probably discussing the house and the evidence found in it. As Olivia watched them for a moment, she felt connected to that familiarity, and she wanted to hang on to this feeling, this rare moment of something resembling sanity, so she hung on to the squadroom, unchanged, the walls, the windows, the desks, the familiar sounds and voices.

They all stopped talking when they saw her, throwing concerned looks in her direction. Her eyes met Elliot's, and she was stricken by the familiarity of that specific shade of blue, by how seeing him felt like home, strengthened that sense of returning to the real world, but he quickly looked away, reminding her he was angry at her and she was supposed to be angry at him as well.

"Liv, how are you?" Cragen asked, annoyingly softly. "I thought you'd gone home."

"I'm good, Captain," she replied, impatiently but truthfully for the first time in a while. "Ready to go back to work."

Cragen nodded in approval and briefed her on the evidence that had already been gathered, all still pending reports from CSU and the medical examiner. A bag of tools had been found, containing several knives, scissors, razorblades and a screwdriver. The tools had blood on them, which led them to believe they were used to torture the victims, and one of the knives was probably the murder weapon, responsible for severing the femoral artery of each of the women.

The house had been dusted for prints from top to bottom, and all fibers found were also going through forensic analysis as they spoke. Ashes from the fireplace had been collected and were being analyzed. Along with the pictures and maps, journals were also found; they seemed to be thorough reports on the victims' activities during the time they were stalked, but the team hadn't been able to read them yet as they were currently being checked for evidence and undergoing forensic analysis of the handwriting against Wyatt's.

"We have him nailed," Cragen summed up. "He died before he was able to get rid of the evidence he was keeping in the house, and now we have everything we need to document and close the case."

"Not yet," Olivia protested. "We still need the results of the forensic analysis."

"Of course," Cragen agreed. "But it's practically a formality. We have a house belonging to the mother of our main, or rather, our _only_ suspect, packed with evidence. The case is as good as closed."

"I don't really think Wyatt is the perp," Olivia finally had the courage to say. "My gut says the real killer is still out there."

"What?" Fin said. "Please don't go all Munch on me now."

"I just think it's too convenient that we found this right after his death," she reasoned. "When he can't be here to confirm or deny the evidence, when we can't question our main suspect."

"What are you thinking?" Elliot asked, brow furrowed, arms crossed.

"I'm thinking the killer wants to get us off his trail by framing a dead man who minimally fits the profile and can't defend himself."

"I understand what you mean, Liv," Munch said, a bit more careful than usual. "But we haven't found any evidence pointing at anyone else, or anything that exonerates Wyatt. And also, there's the fact that there haven't been any more victims since he died. I think you're being a little paranoid, even for my standards."

Olivia was going to argue with him, but Eric spoke before she had a chance to.

"She just wants to cover all our bases," he said, then looked at her; she didn't appreciate his attempt to explain what _she_'d meant, but she let it slide. "I agree that it sounds a bit too easy. We need to be careful not to let the amount of evidence pointing at Wyatt influence our judgment. We just need to do our due diligence."

Olivia nodded, silently thanking Eric for the support, even though she could tell he didn't actually agree.

"I know we don't get much of it," Munch argued, "but sometimes it's just... Occam's razor. A complicated case doesn't necessarily need to have a complicated solution."

"But it could be a frame job, couldn't it?" she retorted looking at Munch first, then at everyone else, assessing each face for signs of agreement; she didn't find any. "The killer could have planted the evidence to frame Wyatt. Nothing proves that's not what happened."

"Or that it _is_ what happened," Fin muttered.

"Everything is possible," Cragen said diplomatically. Then, he took a step towards her and lowered his voice. "I understand your concern; if it turns out Wyatt isn't our guy, that could mean you're still in the real killer's sights. I'll assign a protective detail just in case, that way you'll feel safe."

"I'm not worried about me," Olivia retorted, raising her voice a little. "I'm just worried everyone has blinders on and the killer might be getting away with it while we settle for an easy close."

"Easy close?" Munch chuckled. "We all deserve a vacation after this case. I guess someone had to be paranoid about it, is that how it feels to work with me every day?"

"I'm not paranoid!" Olivia snapped. "What's the matter with all of you?"

"Liv, why don't we go out for a cup of coffee?" Eric suggested, lowering his voice and taking her arm.

"Why?" She removed her arm violently. "Am I bothering anyone by not agreeing?"

She looked at each of them and saw the way they were looking at her; shocked by her outburst, like she was crazy, unhinged, unstable. It was weird to have them looking at her like that when she felt saner than she had in weeks. She looked at Elliot. He didn't seem to be looking at her like she was crazy, but he looked worried, which was pretty much the same thing, because it meant he didn't believe her gut feeling either.

"Keep your voice down," Eric said, lowering his own voice and taking her arm again, rather forcefully this time.

"Hey, don't talk to her like that," Elliot raised his voice, walking over to where Olivia and Eric were standing.

"Oh, so _now _you want to defend her?" Eric said, turning to Elliot with a wry smile.

In response, Elliot stiffened, his hands closed into fists, his body threateningly posed. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked in a low voice.

"All right, that's enough," Cragen warned, approaching as well.

Neither of them seemed to hear the captain, and Eric didn't seem intimidated by Elliot's threatening stance. "It means I had to protect her when _you _didn't," he said.

This time, Elliot simply lunged at Eric, punching him in the face; in the next second they were all over each other, exchanging blows. Olivia grabbed Elliot's arms from behind, using her weight to pull him backwards, and a punch he received from Eric actually helped her move him away.

"Elliot, stop!" she yelled.

He struggled a little, but didn't engage in a fight with her; Cragen joined her, helping her contain him, and he eventually calmed down, even though he still breathed like a rabid dog and looked at Eric with murder in his eyes. On the opposite side, Fin and a uniformed officer held Eric back, but he was already settling down, not resisting.

"This is completely unacceptable behavior!" Cragen yelled, letting go of Elliot; Olivia still held onto him, her arms like a backpack's shoulder straps around his. The captain looked at her, then Elliot, then Eric. "The three of you'd better get out of my sight before I kick you off this case for good." He looked at Olivia again. "Get him the hell out of here."

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking?" Olivia said, both of her arms wrapped around Elliot's right arm as she yanked him into the locker room.

"I should've done that a long time ago," he muttered in response.

The condescending way Downey had talked to her and the way he'd tugged at her arm had really bothered Elliot, but what had almost driven him to murder the son of a bitch was the mention of his failure to protect her in that alley. He had attacked Downey, but he was angry at himself. And at her, and at everyone. He approached the sink and saw in the mirror that there was blood coming from above his eye. He grabbed a couple of paper towels and pressed them against his face, hoping to stop the bleeding.

Elliot turned around and saw that Olivia was taking something out of her own locker, a small bag, like a make-up bag. Wordlessly, she walked to him, looking away. She put the bag down on the sink, then finally faced him, grabbing the paper towel from his hand with no warning and throwing it away. She took a new paper towel, then pressed it to his eyebrow; he winced as it hurt, and then swallowed audibly, a reaction to her sudden closeness. She held the towel there for a few seconds, looking past him. He watched her closely, trying to read her.

"Thanks," he said, making her look into his eyes; he took the opportunity to tease her. "That's it? You're not gonna give me hell for kicking your boyfriend's ass?"

She kept applying pressure to the wound with the paper towel and staring at him. A few seconds went by in silence; the only sound was their breathing, which had become a bit faster as they stood so close.

"No," she finally said, looking away again.

He nodded, and in a swift movement she held his jaw with her other hand to keep him still; surprise made him suck a sharp intake of air, and having her so close, touching his face with both hands, made him want badly to touch her as well. He felt his body starting to respond, but he knew that wouldn't help with anything, so he cleared his throat and looked away, keeping his hands to himself and trying to drive those thoughts away.

Olivia removed the paper towel from his face, took a look at it, discarded it, and then, in another abrupt movement, stood on her toes to get a closer look at the wound, a hand on his shoulder for support, making him swallow hard again. He wondered if she knew what she was doing to him. She took a step back to grab her bag, allowing him more room to breathe, more space to think clearly. He had expected her to argue with him, to defend Downey. He had so many comebacks at the ready. He watched her as she took a small bottle of antiseptic out of her little bag.

"Do you agree with him?" he asked as she approached him again and put a hand on his shoulder, letting it slide down to his chest, surprising him; he stiffened under her touch and completely forgot what he was going to say.

"Sit down," she said simply, pushing him back lightly. "Agree about what?"

He cleared his throat again and complied, taking a few steps back and sitting down on the bench near the lockers. With the antiseptic in one hand and the bag in the other, she walked to him, standing between his open legs, placing the bag next to him on the bench. Elliot felt the tension between them, like electricity, humming. She soaked a cotton ball in antiseptic and brushed it against his eyebrow, making him wince again, now hissing as well and grabbing her arm in a reflex. That stopped her in her tracks and made her look down at him, and a few moments of a staring contest followed until he let go of her arm, letting her continue to apply the medicine.

"About me being a crappy partner," he said when he was able to recover his train of thought. "Is that why you prefer to work with him now too? Besides everything else?"

He heard it as Olivia's breath hitched, but she recovered quickly and otherwise ignored the question; she just kept going, taking micropore tape from the bag, cutting a couple of strips and sticking them onto the bench. He wanted a reply. He almost wished she would convince him she preferred Downey; he would give it all up, ask to be transferred and disappear from her life. That was actually a good plan, for many reasons.

"I don't prefer working with him," she said, focused on what she was doing and looking away from him.

Elliot sighed, relieved. "Could've fooled me," he teased, and she chuckled, shaking her head and surprising him. He waited for her to say something that explained what was funny about it.

"It would be less ridiculous if you were doing all of this because you actually cared," she started, getting a pack of gauze from her bag and pulling it open. "But the saddest thing is that you're just doing it out of spite, out of pride. Because you feel like he's stepped into your territory, like your manhood is threatened."

Elliot contained an impulse to stand up and show her just how much his manhood was in no danger whatsoever. "You're wrong," he stated instead. "I do care."

She looked into his eyes for only a second, probably trying to assess the veracity of his statement, as she folded a gauze. "But I don't," she replied. "I gave up caring."

He looked up intently into her eyes as she approached him again, her legs brushing lightly against his, and leaned down to carefully place the gauze above his eye. He watched her closely, but she didn't react. She leaned down to get the micropore tape strips while her other hand held the gauze in place.

"Liar," he said in a low voice as she secured the bandage with the tape, and he saw her shivering in response.

When she was done, Elliot stood up, forcing her to take a step back, but he didn't allow her much movement as he put a hand on the small of her back to keep her close, way too close, chests brushing against each other. She swallowed and shook her head.

"It's about time I start choosing better who I care about," she said, probably unaware that she kept looking down at his lips.

"Meaning him?" Elliot chuckled, then circled her with his other arm, pulling her closer; she put her arms up as a barrier, squeezed between their chests, and Elliot felt rewarded by the reactions she couldn't control, like her cheeks blushing or her breaths becoming audibly shallow. "Then why are you here and not there bandaging _him_ up?"

Olivia bit her lip, pushing him away with a sudden movement of her hands against his chest. "Good question," she said, turning to leave. "Asshole."

Elliot held her arm, keeping her from leaving. "Wait," he urged her. "That's exactly what he wants," he thought out loud as something occurred to him.

"What now?" she frowned, not resisting as he held her.

Maybe that was Downey's strategy all along; to use his feelings for Olivia against him, to drive a wedge between them. Insert himself in her life and stand between them, pushing him away little by little.

"Downey's doing it all on purpose, can't you see?" he argued. "To turn us against each other."

She smiled. "Do you really think we need help with that lately? You're pushing me away all on your own. Plus, why would he do that?"

"To get close to you," Elliot replied firmly. "To have you all to himself. To make me resent you and stay away."

"You're paranoid," she accused, then grinned, looking away. "I guess we both are."

Elliot sighed, remembering the argument in the squadroom. "I don't think you're paranoid," he said, letting go of her arm. "I just think seeing those pictures this morning messed with your head."

"In other words, made me crazy," she crossed her arms, her chin quivering.

"In other words, stop pretending none of this is affecting you instead of chasing ghosts," he raised his voice.

Olivia shook her head. "Yeah, and you keep chasing Eric. Keep telling yourself he's to blame for everything bad in the world while I'll go chase my ghosts alone."

"Olivia," he tried calling as she walked away, already knowing she wouldn't turn back.

She wasn't in the squadroom when he got back there, and her coat was gone. Elliot was sure she had gone out to try and find something to support her theory, anything; she was on full stubborn mode, and when that happened, it was usually best to let her do her thing and realize herself when it was time to stop. He just hoped she would let him be there for her when she fell on her face.

When Elliot reached his desk, Downey was walking out of Cragen's office; upon seeing him, he approached. "Sorry about earlier," he said. "I was a bit on edge, I shouldn't have said those things."

He held out his hand for Elliot to shake. He didn't. Eventually, Downey put his hand away and nodded before walking to his desk and sitting down. So now he was back to being a boy scout, he'd probably been sucking up to Cragen until now, saying God knows what to get back in his good graces. Elliot walked into the captain's office, determined to ask what that idiot had been saying about him, but as soon as Cragen saw him, he was the one to speak.

"Close the door," he demanded, in a low but angry voice, standing up from behind his desk. "What the hell was that?" he said, as soon as the door was closed.

Elliot smiled. "He's a useless idiot, I don't know how it took so long for me to smack him."

"You're being funny?" Cragen said, walking around his desk. "Maybe if you drop the dick-measuring contest, you might realize he has a point."

"Oh, so you're gonna side with this prick now?" Elliot snapped. "You and Olivia can keep him, but don't expect me to hang around..."

Cragen silenced him with a wave of his hand and a threatening tone in his voice. "God knows there isn't another moron who sticks his neck out for his detectives like I do for you and Olivia," he said. "So don't act like your feelings are hurt. He has a point. Ever since they started hanging out together, you've abandoned her. You're feeling replaced and acting like a spoiled brat about it while your partner is spinning out of control."

Elliot was surprised that Cragen had figured out the whole situation; he might not like the way he'd described it, but he had the general idea right. He sighed, not even trying to pretend he didn't agree. The captain sighed as well, his expression lightening up as he took a few steps closer.

"She's not well," Cragen said, visibly worried. "Did you see her back in the squadroom? She looks like she hasn't slept or eaten in days, and she's seeing things that aren't there."

Elliot was thankful that someone else also thought she wasn't herself, so he could be sure this wasn't just his jealousy talking. On the other hand, having the captain agree with him made him more worried about her mental state.

"Above everything, you're her partner," the captain said. "It's your job to help her keep it together. Do your damn job."

Given the headway the team had made on the case that day and the fact that CSU would only be delivering updated reports the next morning, Cragen told everyone to call it a night earlier. The squadroom cleared in a few minutes, but Elliot didn't know exactly where to go; he wasn't sure if it was okay to go home, since he hadn't talked to Kathy at all since their fight the night before. Also, he didn't want to go anywhere before he knew where Olivia was. It had started raining outside, and she had been gone for hours.

Probably in a similar frame of mind, Downey hadn't left either, and he was now on his cell phone, calling someone who wouldn't answer – probably her. He looked worried. Elliot wondered if she would answer the phone if _he_ called, and decided to try. As he put the phone to his ear, Downey approached him, apprehensive. Elliot noticed he had a busted lip and a bruise near his eye where he'd delivered his first punch, and it made him feel somewhat good about himself.

"Have you heard from Olivia?" Downey asked.

Elliot shook his head. "I'm trying her cell right now." Both of them waited, but the phone rang until voicemail picked up, raising a flag in Elliot's mind. He stood up, leaving her a message. "Olivia, this is Elliot. Where are you? Please give me a call when you get this."

Downey nervously ran his hand through his hair. "Maybe she went home?" he suggested.

Elliot considered that for a minute. He walked to her desk, opening her drawer. "I don't think so," he said, furrowing his brow as worry and fear started pooling in the pit of his stomach. "Her keys are here."


	12. Lost

12 - LOST

_Afterwards I couldn't recall any details about driving like a maniac from the 1PP building to Olivia's apartment, just as much as I couldn't forget a single second of my search in her empty apartment. There was no sign of her, no clues to where she might have gone – or been taken to, which was what it looked like. _

_I searched every cupboard, cabinet and drawer in every room. Her fridge was empty but for a bottle of juice that had already expired and two containers of Chinese food with a pair of chopsticks inside each, probably a meal she and Downey had shared recently. I hated how there were signs of him everywhere._

_He also had a toothbrush in her bathroom. And clothes in her dresser, an exclusive drawer filled with boxers, sweatpants and NYPD T-shirts that were too big for Olivia. I didn't know they'd gotten his-and-her toothbrush, dresser-sharing serious. Did he also have a key to her place? Had he been about to move in?_

_I also found reading glasses on the nightstand that weren't Olivia's either, and I threw the lamp it shared the space with against the wall in a sudden act of rage. I imagined her complaining about her lamp and realized I'd give anything to hear her scold me. I'd gladly buy her as many new lamps as she wanted. I struggled to get my shit together and continue the search, but I already knew there was nothing, I just didn't want to admit it, because I had no plan B, I didn't know what to do next. _

_Walking into her bathroom, I saw her clothes on the floor; they were the same ones she'd been wearing the night before. I recognized the fabrics that had covered her when I'd held her, the same ones I'd run my hands under; her jeans, her shirt, the black lace of her bra, just pieces of clothing that looked so dull now, without her inside. That had been just the night before, but so much had happened afterwards that it seemed really far away, especially considering that throughout the day she'd been so angry at me. Not at all her mood in the previous night._

_I was getting desperate; I looked at my face in the medicine cabinet mirror and hated the coward that I saw; even after the night we'd spent together, I hadn't had the guts to tell her I loved her. I punched my own face in the mirror, and it shattered in front of me. I'd get her a new one, as well as a new lamp and a new front door. I'd get her whatever she wanted, she just needed to come back to me in one piece. I looked all around me, at the mess I'd made looking for something, anything that gave me any hope to find her. It was time to figure out my next step, because there was nothing here._

* * *

Olivia punched the elevator button and waited, tapping her foot impatiently. She wanted to get as far away from Elliot as she could; he had turned into a complete idiot over this thing with Eric, he seemed obsessed with trying to prove he wasn't the guy for her. And why? Was he going to volunteer to take his place? Definitely not. Then why couldn't he just let her be? Maybe even worse than that was the fact that he agreed with everyone else that she was going crazy for thinking Wyatt might not be their killer. She had expected him to side with her, but she figured she shouldn't be surprised that he'd let her down once again.

Also, how had she lost her credibility in the squad so quickly? People used to listen to what she had to say, even if they didn't agree. She must have been acting really crazy without realizing those last few weeks. Or was she going insane now? Could it be that she was really just being paranoid about the case and about everyone's opinion of her? Was there something obvious that everyone could see but her? She wished Elliot could get over himself and help her figure that out, but she was on her own. She'd always been.

This wasn't the time to doubt herself, she decided. With everyone against her, she couldn't jump ship too. If no one agreed with her theory that the killer was still on the loose and framing Wyatt, then she would have to look for proof on her own. When the elevator pinged and opened its doors, she didn't really know where to start, but by the time it reached the ground floor, she'd already had an idea.

"Detective Benson," said Nicole Jennings, looking surprised to see her back in her office, but taking a step back to make room for her to enter. "Come on in. I heard about Jordan's death."

"Yes, it was during a pursuit," Olivia explained, gathering the details from what felt like a distant past, a fuzzy memory. "He shot at us as we were chasing him."

"That's what I read," the psychiatrist motioned to the chair across from hers. "Take a seat."

Olivia sat down, and so did Nicole. "I was hoping to get some more insight on Jordan," Olivia said. "I figured you could help me with that, as his shrink."

Nicole sighed. "As I told you before, the extent of his dedication to therapy was taking his meds," she hedged. "It was very difficult to get something out of him, and I always had the impression that the things he told me weren't the truth."

"How come?" Olivia frowned.

"Some people try to manipulate their therapists by pretending to be something they're not or telling stories that didn't actually happen in order to keep their true selves hidden," Nicole explained. "Jordan did that a lot."

"And how did he react when you asked about things you knew to be true, like the stalking charges or his relationships with those women?"

"He mostly deflected any attempts to talk about those relationships, and he absolutely didn't admit to any fault; in his mind, what he did wasn't stalking, he said he was only trying to stay in touch with his ex-girlfriends."

"And did he admit to being abusive in those relationships?"

Nicole thought for a moment before answering. "In the little that he said about them, I could tell he thought his girlfriends deserved whatever they got. He was a subscriber to the idea that what happens between a couple is their business only, and he always had an excuse for his behaviors; it was always their fault, they had always done something to deserve whatever treatment he gave them."

Olivia nodded and sighed; so far, everything Nicole was saying seemed to be consistent with a man capable to stalk and kill those three women; she decided to be more specific. "Did you ever notice anything in his behavior that could indicate he was capable of these murders?"

"Not really, no," Nicole said, vehemently shaking her head. "He was clearly very good at concealing that side of him. From my observations, I concluded he was extremely antisocial and prone to outbursts, so I wouldn't have considered him capable of such meticulous planning. Obviously, I was wrong."

"Well, suppose you weren't," Olivia suggested, anxious.

"Why, is there any chance he's not the killer?" Nicole seemed alarmed, confused.

"Right now, it's really looking like he's the guy," Olivia hedged, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm just curious as to why you didn't think he was capable of planning the murders. From what you told me, he was a pathological liar, he made up stories, faked behaviors."

"Yes, but those were things he could control easily; it was just me and him in a room, he only had to tell me something believable, there wasn't much that could go wrong. The murders would involve many more variables, he would have to be careful, keep secrets, control his emotions. Basically, lead a double life. I just didn't think he had the emotional stability needed to execute such detailed plans."

"Emotional stability?" Olivia cocked her head to the side, frowning.

"I know, it sounds contradictory." Nicole started, hesitating for a moment as she seemed to look for a way to explain her theory. "These murders were carefully planned in advance, then executed perfectly, meticulously. That requires a high level of focus, strategic thinking and even patience, there's no room for impulsivity. To me, that didn't seem consistent with his emotional instability, his outbursts, his impulses. But like I said, all of that was clearly part of his act. Certainly fooled me."

Olivia nodded, feeling her gut agreeing with Nicole's assessment, not her _mea culpa_. Her phone rang; she checked the caller ID and saw it was Eric. She sighed, declining the call and putting the phone in silent mode. She shook her head, wondering what he wanted. He was probably worried about her, wondering where she had gone, but she just didn't have the patience to deal with him or anyone else doubting her right now.

"Are you okay, detective?" Nicole asked, startling Olivia.

She hated the fact that her inner confusion could be noticed from outside and she wondered if Nicole was also thinking she was crazy. "I'm fine, thanks," she replied, running her hand through her hair. "This has been an emotionally-straining case, that's all."

"I'm sure it has," Nicole said, empathetic. "Sorry I asked, just old habits I guess."

"Old habits?" Olivia frowned.

"Yeah, observing cops. Angela and I used to work with NYPD providing mandatory and voluntary counseling." She laughed to herself. "I never had any volunteers though. Cops don't seem to like therapy."

"I guess not," Olivia smiled. "I didn't know that you used to do that."

"That's weird, I was sure I'd told one of you," Nicole said casually.

Olivia wondered if she really didn't know or if the information had gotten lost in the maze of her mind. She stood up. "Well, I think that's it, thanks a lot for speaking to me, it's been very helpful."

"Anything I can do to help," Nicole said, standing up to shake Olivia's hand.

Already at the door, Olivia paused, then decided to turn around. "Can I ask for your professional opinion on something?" she asked hesitantly.

"Sure," Nicole said, looking puzzled.

"From your experience observing cops, how would you evaluate me? My fitness for duty?"

Nicole frowned and opened her mouth, like she didn't understand the question. Olivia took a few steps towards her and explained better.

"I think my appearance speaks for itself, but I haven't slept a whole night in weeks, I've had anxiety episodes, the whole time I'm wondering if people think I'm crazy," she chuckled. "And of course, I'm still wondering if Jordan Wyatt is really the killer even with all evidence pointing at him."

Nicole nodded slightly, looking hesitant. "Do you want my brutally honest opinion?"

"Please," Olivia asked.

Nicole sighed. "I don't think I would clear you for duty."

* * *

The rain was heavier as Elliot pulled up in front of Olivia's building. He doubted she had come home, since she'd left her keys back at the precinct – the same ones now tucked in his pocket –, but he didn't know where else to look. She wasn't picking up her cell phone, and he didn't know where else she could have gone. He had been able to retrace a few of her steps, but he kept missing her, and now he didn't have any options left but her apartment.

He had gone to the morgue first, where Warner had confirmed that Olivia had called asking for any forensic updates; apparently, she had been at Wyatt's house too. Elliot figured that, if she'd been to the house, she would probably have been to Wyatt's apartment as well and, in his building, a neighbor had confirmed seeing her walk out about a half hour before Elliot got there. He cursed himself for not having gone there first; if he had, he might have been able to catch her.

Before running out of ideas, he thought of Nicole Jennings' office; it would make sense for her to check with Wyatt's therapist if she knew anything that might suggest he didn't fit the killer's profile. He called the shrink, and she told him Olivia had indeed been there, asking about Wyatt, but it had been earlier in the afternoon. Nicole also said that Olivia didn't seem well and had mentioned she hadn't been sleeping; Nicole had even written her a prescription. He remembered the captain's words. _She's not well_. _You've abandoned her._

Elliot ran up the stairs, hoping she would just be there, that she would open the door and complain that he was there, lash out at him and tell him she had another copy of her keys, of course. That the ones in her drawer at the precinct were spare keys. He was suddenly hopeful that this could be it. Spare keys. He knocked a few times, but she didn't open the door, didn't complain, didn't lash out. No sound came from inside the apartment.

"Screw it," he muttered, grabbing her keychain and hoping she was just deep asleep; maybe she'd taken one of Nicole's sleeping pills. That must be it. He turned the key and opened the door slowly. "Olivia?" he called out; he didn't want to scare her in case she _was _home.

But she wasn't. He looked everywhere, and there was no sign of her. Was he overreacting? Maybe Downey's panic had influenced him. He didn't know what to do next. Should he wait there to see if she showed up? But what if she went back to the station for her keys and didn't find them? He sighed.

There was a notepad by the phone; he wrote a note saying he'd been there looking for her and asking her to call him when she had the chance. He tucked his note under a couple of magnets on her fridge and left; the image of her tearing up his note and throwing it out came to mind as he remembered how she'd been mad at him the last time they'd spoken. These days, he didn't seem to do anything right concerning her. Even when she had helped bandage his wound, probably willing to establish a truce, he'd found a way to blow it and make her mad at him again.

He couldn't get it out of his head, how it had all started to crumble: that night, in that stupid bar, when he had kissed her. Nothing had ever been the same after that and, if Downey had purposefully tried to sabotage their partnership, he hadn't really found much left to undermine. He could try to blame whoever he wanted, but he knew the fault was his. He was the one who had taken the forbidden step, crossed the sacred line, and it had completely destroyed their relationship.

By kissing her, he'd opened a door he could no longer close, as hard as he tried. He could no longer look at her the same way, think of her the same way. After that, he hadn't been able to pretend like he didn't feel anything anymore. Kathy had told him how she'd known about his feelings for Olivia for a long time, but he'd never allowed himself to acknowledge them. It was so much better when he didn't know that consciously; ignorance was bliss, and now that he knew, he was in hell.

He stood outside her building for a moment longer, contemplating the rain and how his whole life had fallen to pieces just because of that one kiss. And then that reminded him of Kathy and how they hadn't talked at all since the night before, which felt like a lifetime ago. Maybe he should call her. Actually, he knew he should. He decided to go back to the station: he'd call her from there. Hopefully, Olivia would be there, annoyed that he'd been worried enough to steal her keys and invade her apartment. For the first time, he was looking forward to arguing with her.

* * *

"Liv, thank God," Eric said as soon as she walked into the squadroom, immediately receiving her in a tight hug that almost made her fall backwards. Luckily, he let her go before noticing she'd kept her arms down, unmoving. "I was worried, where were you?"

"Just checking a few things," she replied cryptically, putting a few steps of distance between them. She stared at Elliot's empty desk. "Where's everyone?"

"Cragen told everyone to go home earlier since we'll only hear back from forensics tomorrow," Eric explained.

Olivia nodded, wondering why he was still there, and then she realized he'd been waiting for her to turn up; maybe she was too crazy to remember her way back. At least Elliot hadn't done the same. He was probably already home, with his happy family. She wondered if he was screwing Kathy and wishing he was with her like he'd told her the night before, then censored her own thoughts, realizing she was just mad. She'd been expecting to see him, but he had left. Story of her life.

"Why don't we just get out of here?" Eric said, like nothing was happening, putting his coat on. "I'm starving."

"Aren't you going to ask me what I found?" Olivia said, ignoring his request.

He turned to her, looking surprised and a bit doubtful. "What _did _you find?"

"Something that supports my theory that Wyatt is not the killer," she announced, barely curbing her excitement.

Eric made that worried face he'd been wearing so often lately; he walked to her and took her hand in his. "Liv, it's over. The case is over. We can finally move on with our lives."

Olivia narrowed her eyes. She hated this condescending tone he was using and the fact that he wasn't even considering the possibility that her evidence might be solid. She appreciated that he'd been longer on the case and couldn't wait to be done with it, but she wouldn't have expected him to ignore possible evidence. She wondered if Elliot would have reacted the same way if he had been the one she showed this to. She removed her hand from Eric's abruptly and opened the file she was carrying.

"I went to the company where Wyatt worked," she said, unable to hide her annoyance. "He was working on the night of Angela's murder."

Eric frowned. "What are you talking about? We had already checked, he didn't have an alibi."

She smiled triumphantly, showing him the contents of the folder. "Yes, no one could confirm he really was at the office because he was alone, but the computers could. Check these out."

"What are they?" he asked, impatiently.

"System logs with timestamps, showing when Wyatt logged onto the system, the activities he performed and when he logged off," she said. "He was online during the timeframe of the murder."

Eric sighed, running his hand through his hair; she couldn't understand. He didn't look surprised or even curious. Instead, he looked like he had some really bad news to give her.

"We've already checked this, Liv, don't you remember?" He just wouldn't wipe that infuriating look of worry off his face; now it had a hint of pity to boot.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, incredulous, frowning.

"We already have those logs," Eric said. "They prove nothing. TARU checked and they said the system has a breach that allows for logs to be edited, a breach Wyatt was probably aware of or maybe even created as system admin, so there's no way to prove they really are from that night. They could've been forged for all we know."

Olivia sighed, feeling defeated. Of course something as trivial as that would have already been ruled out at this point, but how come she didn't remember? She searched for that information in the blurry memories from the past few weeks, but couldn't find it. Were there any other crucial pieces of evidence she'd forgotten about? Was that why nobody had taken her hunch seriously?

But she had been so certain, her gut had been telling her she was on the right track. She'd felt so proud to have finally found something proving her theory when no one else believed her, but now what Eric told her made her feel the way they were seeing her; like she was going off the deep end. He took the folder from her hands carefully, put the printed logs back in it and put it away in her drawer.

"You're exhausted," he justified softly, rubbing her shoulder, then dropped his hand and changed his tone. "Let's get out of here, please," he said, less like asking and more like demanding. "We both need some rest."

Olivia did need rest, but she definitely didn't want to go with him. "I'm sorry, Eric," she said. "I just really want to be alone tonight."

"Are you sure you _should _be alone?" he reasoned, visibly worried, but that only made her angrier; now he thought she wasn't sane enough to spend a night alone.

"I'm fine, I'll just go home and sleep." She forced a smile, hoping it would help her get rid of him sooner. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Eric finally seemed convinced. He went to his desk, took his things and stopped beside her again before leaving the squadroom. "Can I at least give you a lift?"

"No need," Olivia rushed to say, impatient. "I still have some things to wrap up around here."

He finally gave up, leaning in to give her a kiss; she turned her face just in time to deflect it and turn it into a kiss on the cheek. He didn't seem confused about it, and she figured he shouldn't be; it was implied that he should never kiss her at work, whether there were people around them or not. She wasn't even sure she still wanted him to kiss her at all. She waited as he finally left, resting only when she heard the elevator doors closing.

* * *

The squadroom was completely empty when Elliot got back there; even Downey had left now, and most of the lights were turned off. He wondered if Olivia had been there or if he'd otherwise gotten ahold of her, already cursing the son of a bitch for not giving him a call after getting him worried about not knowing where she was. He sighed; he couldn't wait for this case to be finally officially over so he would never have to see that prick again. Unless Olivia kept seeing him. He felt disgust at that thought.

What was he supposed to do now? Should he continue to worry about Olivia? He decided to try her cell phone one more time for good measure; his head immediately darted towards her desk when he saw a light coming from there. He walked over and saw the cell phone there, ringing silently next to her computer screen. Had it been there all along? Well, he would have noticed it ringing, he and Downey had tried calling it several times.

That's when he noticed her coat, hanging from her chair. The coat had definitely not been there before he'd gone out to look for her; she was at the station. But where? And what was she doing there?

He wasn't really sure she'd be there when he went looking for her in the cribs, but when he opened the door, he was relieved to see her silhouette, outlined by the soft light coming from the window. She had her back turned to him and both arms leaning on the top bed of one of the bunks. The lights were off. She wasn't making a sound, but he saw her stiffen in response to the opening and closing of the door.

"Olivia…" he called, still unsure of what to say to her; he'd been so consumed with worry that he hadn't even thought about what it would be like when he found her.

"I'm fine," she said without turning around, her voice weak, like she didn't even have the energy to argue anymore.

"No, you're not," he replied, suddenly aware of what he was supposed to say; he remembered Cragen's words. _Above everything, you're her partner, it's your job to help her keep it together._ _Do your damn job._

"I know I'm the last person you want to see right now," he went on. "But I promised you I'd be here when you needed me, so I'm here. You can tell me to leave you alone a thousand times, but it's my job to make sure you're all right, and that's what I'll do, like it or not."

The rain intensified outside, making it hard for Elliot to discern if she replied in any way to his speech. The flashes coming through the windows lit up the darkened room for a few seconds here and there. He walked slowly towards her, tentatively, protected by the sound of the rain; if she couldn't hear him approaching, maybe she wouldn't run away.

"You're not..." she said quietly without turning around, probably well aware that he was much closer now. "You're not the last person I want to see. I don't think you'll ever manage to become the last person I want to see."

That gave Elliot a shred of hope. Maybe he hadn't completely screwed this up with his boundary-breaking behaviors and jealous temper tantrums. Maybe she still remembered, still knew she meant much more to him than just being "his territory", much more than just giving him "a hard-on". He put his hand on her shoulder, startling her, but she let him.

Slowly, she turned around, and flashes of lightning allowed Elliot to see that she had been crying. He circled her waist with one of his arms to pull her towards him, and she promptly nestled against his chest as he did his best to cover her with his body, as though the rain was hitting them and he needed to protect her from it. She squeezed him with her own arms, and he squeezed her back in response, hoping to convey that he'd never let her go unless she wanted him to.

"What happened?" he asked, but he imagined it probably had something to do with failing to find evidence proving Wyatt was innocent.

Her only reply was to squeeze him tighter for a moment. He placed a kiss on the top of her head and felt it as her body slowly became less and less tense against his. He rubbed his hand against her back. "It's okay," he whispered occasionally. After a few minutes, she pulled away slightly, and he could look at her face. A single tear rolled down her cheek and reached her mouth; she wiped it with her tongue, never raising her eyes to look at him.

"I feel like…" she whispered. "I'm losing my grasp on reality. I feel... lost. I don't know what's real anymore."

"It's all over now," he said, cupping the side of her face; it seemed so small now against his palm. So fragile. Not at all the adjectives he would have associated with Olivia. "You'll be all right now. This is all over."

She looked up at him, her eyes shifting focus between his; she seemed to be trying really hard to believe him. She took a deep breath, her expression toughening up, and then she nodded. Cupping her face with both hands, he leaned in to touch her forehead with his. He saw it as she closed her eyes, and they stayed there, in that embrace, foreheads against each other, for a few moments.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually. "I'm sorry about everything..."

"Shhhh," she interrupted, and Elliot waited for her to say something, but she didn't.

He pulled away, opening his eyes, and so did she; her face was so close to his. He grazed his knuckles against her jaw, wanting so badly to let her know how much he loved her. Because there was no other word for it. Kathy was right after all: he needed to admit it. He loved Olivia. And here, seeing her so vulnerable, he realized he had the balls to own up to it, like she'd challenged him the night before at that bar. He had the balls to admit to himself that he loved Olivia.

Looking deep into his eyes, she placed her hands on his forearms, stroking them up and down as his hands framed her face. Her eyes moved down to his lips, then up into his eyes again before closing, a surrender, and Elliot felt he had no choice but to let himself go. He kissed her forehead first, then her closed eye, still wet. It tasted salty. He kissed her cheek next, nuzzled at it, at her nose. He paused, listening to her breathing and his own, before he kissed her on the mouth, once, slowly. He waited a moment and kissed her again, inquisitively, then again, leaving her plenty of room to stop him. She didn't.

Elliot broke contact while he was still in control; he didn't want to mess it up this time. He just wanted to be there for her, to show her how much she meant to him. He didn't want her to think this was a physical thing. This was how he'd let things go south before, and he didn't want to make any mistakes now. Her eyes fluttered open, and he studied her face, trying to read what she was feeling. But then she told him.

"Please," she whispered. "Don't go this time. Just this once, don't say you can't."

Elliot watched her for a couple of seconds, their eyes deeply connected, trying to figure out his next move. He really didn't want to mess this up. He let go of her, turned around and walked towards the door. He hesitated for a moment, but he had always known what he was going to do. It was like free-falling; there was no going back up. He locked the door, then turned around to face her again. Lightning stroke outside, lighting up their faces as they stared at each other.


	13. Synchrony

13 - SYNCHRONY

For a second, Olivia thought that he was going to leave, and it made her realize how much it would hurt if he did. She had just gone against her best judgment and asked him for the one thing she knew he couldn't give her. Why the hell had she done that? Just the night before she had felt so ridiculous contemplating the idea of ever being the other woman and vowed, to herself and to him, that she would never play that part. Now, she had just ignored that and asked him to be with her, forgetting the consequences and the thousands of reasons why he could never do that. She really _must _be going crazy.

But then she heard the sound of the lock before he turned around to face her again and sighed, relieved. She had been negotiating it in her mind, telling herself that it was better off this way, that by leaving he would keep them both from making a big mistake, but in that moment, when she figured out he would grant her request, she realized how fragile her heart was, how it would have shattered into a million pieces if he had walked out on her. And it wouldn't even matter if she hadn't asked him to stay, her heart would break all the same, just like it had, ever so silently, for so many years. As lightning lit the room, she saw the severe expression on his face as he walked back towards her, decidedly, and allowed herself to think things could be simple as that: simple as asking him to stay, simple as him staying.

She had asked for this, in the purest, most honest way, opened up a crack into her heart and given him a glimpse of her feelings. She was entrusting him with this, and Elliot knew it wasn't something she did often or easily. He had no choice but to comply; he was standing in front of this person that he loved, this woman that he wanted so much, with an opportunity to show her everything he'd struggled to conceal for so long. Holding her face with both hands, he kissed her, not an ounce of hesitation now. It was intense but gentle, urgent but slow. He circled her with his arms, holding her close as he deepened the kiss.

Elliot knew there were countless reasons for not going through with this, and he had always kept them in mind for all of those years, but now they seemed to disappear. Nothing else seemed to matter, because Olivia had finally done what he'd been asking of her and revealed her true feelings, revealed her fragility and asked him to stay, asked him to take care of her, like she'd never allowed him to before. He'd been urging her to accept his help and to admit he was the man she really wanted, and she'd finally done it; there was simply no way for him not to hold up his end. He'd already turned his back on her that night at the bar, after kissing her, then that other night in her apartment, when she had wanted him to stay but dared not admit it; now that she had, he didn't have the strength to walk away.

For so many years he had been able to stuff those feelings down, under so many protective layers. His marriage, his responsibility, their partnership, her self-reliance. Little had he known those barriers were actually very fragile; he didn't know if he would have had that strength if he'd ever had any indication that she might have feelings for him, if she'd ever expressed her vulnerability to him, letting him know she wanted him to take care of her and trusted him to do so. Thinking she didn't want him and didn't need him made it so much easier to stay away.

As he kissed her and held her body close to his, Olivia knew this was what she needed: him. She had been so afraid of her need for him that she had tried to stifle it, pretend it didn't exist, fulfill it with someone else, but, this time, nothing had worked. And as much as she had told him, herself and Huang that she didn't need him physically, that was a lie; once she'd had a taste of having him, she could no longer subsist on their platonic bond, not when she'd had a glimpse of what it felt like to be reciprocated, not when, after a whole life building a fortress of independence, she'd had a taste of what it would feel like if she weren't alone. The killer's profile came to mind then, unavoidably: all of those women who didn't need men, her included. Olivia didn't need a man, but everybody needs love, human connection. Everybody needs someone, and Olivia needed Elliot.

He felt her hands spread on the planes of his back, pulling him closer, and tightened his grip on her as he circled her waist with one arm and cupped the back of her head with his other hand. She was still waiting for the moment when his body would stiffen and he would pull away, like that first night when he'd kissed her and started all this, but he didn't stiffen, and he didn't pull away. If anything, he pulled her even closer as his tongue slowly explored her mouth, like someone who's not planning on leaving any time soon. He let his hand wander and snake up under her shirt, touching the smooth skin of the small of her back and causing a shudder that matched the sound of thunder outside.

Maybe that was it, Elliot thought, that made him lose control so easily: it wasn't just about how much he wanted her, it was also about how she responded to him, the flush on her cheeks, the goosebumps on her skin, the involuntary sounds escaping her throat. It made him want to keep exploring every single way he could ever touch her just to find out what her reaction to each ministration would be. He pulled away to look at her, but pulled her closer to his chest to let her know he wasn't hesitating. He just wanted to look at her, and so he did, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, the danger she thought she was putting herself in by opening up to him like this, but also the desire, the urgency as she also seemed to want to explore and discover the same things he did.

With a light-feathered touch, he pushed her hair back behind her shoulder, exposing her neck, and that single brush of his fingers made her breathe in audibly, her eyes fluttering closed; he seized the exposed skin, making her gasp against him as he open-mouthedly kissed his way up her throat, his teeth and tongue experimenting with different ways to taste her as he catalogued the immediate, audible feedback. Olivia tugged at his shirt to untuck it, seeking direct contact with his skin; he jerked as her cold hands ran along the heat of his back, then lowered her to lay her down on the bottom bunk, climbing on top of her to reestablish the connection with her lips.

Elliot slowly moved his hands down to touch her body, this body he had secretly dreamed of so many times, willing to take his time. Olivia felt his weight as he covered her, and the heat on her skin following the touch of his hand. He started working on the buttons of her shirt and, once it was open, he patiently kissed his way down her collarbone, the swell of her breasts and her stomach. Then he came back up, his fingers lightly following his mouth, his fingertips straying away to bump into her nipple under the thin layer of black lace, feeling it harden in response. He looked deeply into her eyes before kissing her mouth again, hungrily, savoring every taste.

She circled his waist with her arms and interlaced her legs with his to keep him close. Stripping naked would be nothing compared to how she had just stripped herself of all pride and of all sense to ask him not to leave her this time, not to dismiss her as a mistake, to pretend just for a moment that nothing else existed. There was no rush now, as both of them had given in, completely committed to this moment, to each other, to shutting out the entire world outside. Their shirts were discarded, each revealing a new patch of skin to explore, a new avenue to travel, and every first touch provoked a different sound, a moan, a gasp, a name whispered against the relentless rain.

The narrow mattress of the bunk bed didn't allow for much movement, but they didn't care. Olivia pushed Elliot so they would both sit up, and they laughed as he hit his head against the top bed. She ran her hands throughout his back as she traced the same path on his chest with her mouth, learning the taste and feel of every inch of his skin as he tangled his fingers in her hair, watching, the view of her lips on his skin the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

When she reached his neck on her way up, he brought his hands to her back, searching for the clasp of her bra, forcefully ripping it open. He pushed her away and pulled it down to reveal her bare chest, the tanned, smooth skin, even more beautiful than he could have imagined. She saw it as he stared almost reverently, licking his lower lip as he timidly touched her full breast with the tips of his index and middle finger, as though he was afraid to disturb it, violate its perfection. He patiently outlined it, as if he were drawing it, giving the hardened nipple special attention, painting its color onto an imaginary blank canvas. After finishing his mental drawing, he cupped her entire breast in his hand, leaning in to kiss her ear and the skin behind it.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, and the combination of his voice, his mouth, the hot air coming from it and his hand sinking into her skin was too much for her to handle; she let out a long moan and Elliot felt himself get impossibly harder as he imagined what she would sound like when he got inside her.

Elliot pulled her legs around him, sitting her on his lap, and she groaned as she felt him rock-hard under her, grinding against her through the fabric of their clothes. She propped herself forward, pressing their chests together, stiff against soft, and took a moment to look at him as she cupped his face, running her thumb along his jaw. His blue eyes stared back at her, and all she wanted in the world was to believe the love that she saw in them. Her hand drifted up, reaching the dressing above his eye, and she swallowed hard as the words _I love you_ almost escaped her mouth after traveling at the speed of light from the secret depths of her mind. She froze, her hand still on his forehead, covering his wounded eyebrow.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, trying to conceal what she had actually almost said, her eyes on the gauze for fear of being read.

He grabbed her wrist, forcing her to look at him again. "Will you kiss it better?" he asked in a whisper that sent a chill down her spine, reaching her at her core, a thermal shock against the heat that was building up. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him, slowly, sensuously, and he wondered how the hell he'd been able to resist her for ten years. He moved his hips up as he held her in place on top of him, and they gasped into each other's mouths. She rolled her hips, grinding against him, making him wish he was already buried deep within her.

A second later, she pulled her legs back, getting off of his lap, and then her hands were on his pants. She wanted to see it, find out if the sight matched the image made up from feeling him rub against her: she wasn't disappointed. He groaned as she touched him, lightly, her thumb rubbing the tip, her fingers taking measurements. She leaned down and Elliot was definitely not prepared for it when she took him whole into her mouth.

"Jesus, Liv…" he breathed.

She sucked and swallowed him thoroughly a few times, but he had to pull her off of him if he wanted this to last any longer. She smiled mischievously as their eyes met again and he forcefully pushed her down against the mattress with a thud, pinning her down with his weight and brushing his length between her legs through her jeans, wiping the smile off her face as she took a deep breath, pressed her eyes shut and opened her mouth silently in response. He stopped for a moment just to stare at her, caressing her hair and smiling, happy he could finally make her his. He leaned down and kissed his way up from the base of her neck.

"I'm so tired of pretending, Liv," he whispered, moving to her earlobe. "Pretending that I don't want you."

It was true; he was done pretending. Now, he wanted to show it all to her, to show her how much he wanted her, how much he needed her. This was not about his pride, about showing her he was the better man, and certainly not just about quenching the thirst for her that he'd accumulated throughout all those years. This was about showing her how he really felt about her. This was about making her feel good, safe and loved.

There was no point in trying to fool herself any longer, Olivia thought. This was the man she wanted, the man she loved, and no one would ever be able to fill this space that had his shape. As good as it might have felt to be with Eric in the beginning, she knew she had only gotten close to him to try to fill this void that had appeared when Elliot had kissed her, then dismissed her. Before that, any reciprocation or rejection were mere possibilities that lived in the realm of imagination, but that night had made both of them real with equal intensity. The case had only exploited and increased that void, showing her how lonely she felt in this undefined relationship with him, in this one-sided work marriage.

Elliot alternated bites and open-mouthed kisses as he moved down to her breasts. He took each of her nipples into his mouth, sucking, tweaking them with his teeth, running his tongue along them and feeling her chest heaving into his hands and mouth as she reacted audibly, caressing his hair, wondering if he knew how much she had wanted him to touch her like this. Elliot pulled away to look at her, admiring the sight of her swollen breasts, reddened by his touches, wet with his saliva, marked with his teeth, now his conquered territory.

He moved down to get rid of her jeans and underwear, and once they were gone, he spread her legs, taking her in his mouth, proud to contemplate how wet she was, knowing he was the cause for it and attempting to drink up all the juices coming down to welcome him, her sultry moans as precious rewards. He enlisted two fingers to slide into her, exploring, preparing her for him, while his mouth worked relentlessly. A few more seconds of that double act and she would have come, but he preferred to let her savor the anticipation for a bit longer and moved back up, kissing his way towards her mouth.

"Soon," he replied to her non-verbal protest.

As he kissed her slowly, she finished pulling down his pants, and he helped her get them off, completely freeing him so she could wrap her hand around him, seeking some revenge for all the teasing. He jolted at the contact, and she squeezed and rubbed him carefully, making his kiss go limp against her lips. Elliot had thought that it was impossible to want her more, but he felt a brand new wave of urgent desire upon seeing how she was his match at this, his equal, as they competed to find out who could make the other more aroused, who could elicit the loudest reactions, and he could no longer wait to step up his game in this dispute, to show her all the ways he could drive her nuts.

When he was able to regain control, he took her arm forcefully, removing her hand from around him, and she knew she had almost made him come again. He positioned himself at her entrance, unable to wait any longer, and she felt them both pulsing in anticipation; then, all of a sudden, he was no longer in any rush, rubbing himself slightly in an out and along her clit, making her whimper impatiently, pleading. He continued teasing them both as he kissed her very slowly, letting his hands wander around her body in the meantime.

"Elliot… Please..." she pleaded in between kisses.

He pulled away to look at her again, smiling, removing a strand of hair from her face and cupping it, and when she smiled back, he slithered into her, slowly, giving her time to adjust, watching her holding her breath and humming as he filled and stretched her. Olivia closed her eyes at the slight, delicious pain from the intrusion. She felt it as he touched her forehead with his, and both let out whispery moans as he reached her at her deepest. She opened her eyes again, and so did he, a moment later, neither surprised to find out that at this, too, they could be great together, in perfect sync. He pulled out slowly, then pushed into her again, a bit faster and harder, demanding his space inside her, which she was happy to let him claim.

After establishing a torturously slow pace, the whole time with his eyes connected to hers and his hands gripping her hips against him to reach deeper, he closed them to kiss her, in sync with his movements, and Olivia never wanted it to end. She held onto him like he was her lifeline, moving her hips in sync with his, getting used to him inside her like he belonged there, like they were connecting halves of the same whole.

Elliot increased the rhythm and intensity, trying to hold out for as long as possible as her walls started to lusciously tighten around him. He raised one of her legs over his shoulder, reaching impossibly deeper, and Olivia thought she wouldn't be able to take it; she broke the kiss to catch her breath with a loud gasp, and he smiled in satisfaction at his achievement. He found one of her hands with his and interlaced their fingers as he pounded harder, now headed for the climax. As much as they never wanted this to stop, they also couldn't wait any longer, aching for this like they never knew it was possible to ache for something.

Holding her hand as their hips collided loudly, he looked at her once again. "Come on, Liv, I know you're close," he whispered, with a final increase in the force of his thrusts that pushed her over the edge. She dug the fingers of her free hand into his back, closing her eyes and letting her voice escape her throat as her body shuddered, and he relished as he watched her lose control. He rested his forehead against hers again upon his own release as he held her close and kissed her one more time on the lips.

A few moments went by as they struggled to catch their breath, and as their panting slowed down, the sound of the rain became louder again. Olivia started dreading the moment he would have to pull away from her and, before that happened, she freed her hand from his and circled his torso with both arms, holding him tight, her display of affection not lost on Elliot. After a moment, he slowly pulled out of her, but didn't break contact. Turning carefully in the limited space, he lay on his back and pulled her to lie on his chest, glad that the narrow mattress forced them to lie so close to each other.

Olivia felt it as Elliot's fingers started running through her hair, absently tracing irregular patterns on her scalp, causing her muscles to relax involuntarily against his body. As much as she wanted to fight it, she couldn't help giving into the feeling of protection from his arms, fastened around her. She closed her eyes, promising herself she would stay there in his embrace just for a moment longer, pretending that nothing else mattered, pretending that he could be hers, always, just like this.

As Elliot held Olivia close to him, listening to the rain, he couldn't help remembering his state of mind minutes before finding her. He had been keeping his fear at bay as he looked for her, telling himself she could look after herself, but the image of Cragen kept coming back to him, saying that she might still be in danger if the killer was still on the loose. He kept thinking about her out there looking for him, alone. At that thought of something happening to her, he involuntarily tightened his grip around her.

"I should have come with you today," he said. "I'm sorry."

It took a moment for Olivia to understand what he was referring to, but it came back to her crashing; her pointless, futile freelance investigation. The whole reason she had holed up in the crib for. She didn't reply, suddenly afraid of what he might think of her if she told him how useless her efforts had been, how she was now also questioning her own sanity. At this point, she was actually glad he hadn't been with her earlier.

"Downey was right," he continued, more to himself than to her. "I've been a crappy partner lately."

Downey. Elliot's words from before came back to Olivia then, about Eric trying to drive a wedge between them. She considered that maybe if they hadn't gotten into a fight with each other, that in turn had caused a fight between Elliot and her, maybe he would have at least helped her investigate, even if he didn't agree with her theory. She couldn't shake the thought that, coincidence or not, Eric had been a distraction to her and Elliot quite a few times, not to mention the reason for many arguments between them. But could it be that Eric was intentionally trying to sabotage her partnership with Elliot? Could he have noticed they were in a delicate moment of their relationship and seized the opportunity to try and take his place? But why? Was he really that interested in her? Was that all it was?

"It's okay," she exhaled eventually as she decided she didn't want to think about Eric; she could deal with him in the morning. "It's not like I found anything."

"Did that help convince you Wyatt is our man?" Elliot asked with genuine curiosity.

She breathed out a chuckle; as stupid as she felt after wasting a day in a wild goose chase, she couldn't bring herself to lie. "Not really," she said, smiling.

Elliot considered it for a moment. He had indeed been worried about Olivia's state of mind of late, her emotional instability, but the truth was they had drifted apart, and he wasn't really in a position to observe whether her suspicions stemmed from her instability or if there was anything to it. Crappy partner didn't even begin to cover it. Even though what had just happened between them was new on so many levels, they had finally connected with each other again, since probably before that night of their first kiss. Right now, in this very moment, she was herself, the Olivia he had known for ten years. His Olivia. He trusted her judgment.

He had let so many distractions take his focus from what really mattered and accepted the simplest explanation without question. As he thought about it, he realized there was, indeed, some room to question it; there was nothing yet that proved Wyatt was the killer beyond a reasonable doubt. If his focus had been in the right place and he and Olivia hadn't been at odds with each other, he might have come to the same conclusion as her, and they might have investigated this together, even if they did it just to rule it out.

He hadn't just failed to support her independent investigation that night or protect her back in that alley; he had been so consumed with jealousy that he had drifted away from her in every way, broken the unspoken bond they'd always had as partners, the blind trust in each other's gut. He had accused her of changing partners, but he had been the one to abandon her first. She had only tried to find someone to rely on. How could he blame her?

"Stop thinking about the case," Olivia said softly, reading into the fact that he kept squeezing her in his arms.

"I was just thinking about how I've been distracted…" he explained vaguely. "I don't think I was looking at the case clearly."

Olivia sighed; she didn't want to talk about the case. She couldn't bear to think about it anymore, she couldn't stand to even think about Wyatt, and the victims, and the pictures. And her pictures. At this point, she was ready to accept she was being paranoid if that meant they could finally close this case and move on from it.

"We'll know more tomorrow," she insisted. "I don't want to talk about this right now."

"What do you want to talk about?" Elliot asked, a different tone to his voice, a hint of amusement.

He was thinking about the obvious elephant in the room as he held onto her naked body, and finding it ironic she would rather talk about that instead of the case. An involuntary smile formed on his lips as he thought about how, in a way, he'd always known they'd be this great together, and yet, how it had exceeded all of his expectations. He let out a chuckle, and Olivia moved inquisitively, making him also smile at the fact that even lying naked in a way they never had before, they could still communicate non-verbally like they always had. Well, what was it that they had just done if not another way to communicate non-verbally?

"I don't know," he started, and Olivia could hear the smile in his voice. "Did you ever… When you pictured this, did you imagine it would be this… good?"

Olivia smiled, a sudden need to see his face as he asked a question like that. Propping herself up and supporting her weight on her elbow, she raised her head just enough to see him, in time to contemplate the mesmerized look on his face, and smiled mockingly.

"You pictured this?" she asked, the corner of her mouth rising as her smile grew wider, and it took Elliot's breath away.

He could only smile in response, guilty as charged as she hadn't let it slide that he'd just confessed to imagining what something like this would be like. Her smile took a turn from mockery to affection, and she brought the hand that had been resting on his chest up to cup his jaw as she leaned to lovingly kiss him on the chin before lying down again, settling her face against the crook of his neck as she once again draped her arm across his chest. Elliot covered it with his hand, tracing patterns along it while his other arm enveloped her back, his hand firmly gripping her shoulder.

"Yeah, I did," he eventually voiced aimlessly as he realized her breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm and her body's weight was slowly increasing as she relaxed: she had fallen asleep. He used his foot to pull a blanket that sat folded on the foot of the bed towards him, careful not to move too much as it could wake Olivia up. With some difficulty, he eventually managed to drape the blanket on top of her, and he felt it as she settled contentedly against him.

It had seemed like he had only closed his eyes for a minute, but Elliot realized he had fallen asleep as well when Olivia began to stir on top of him. He noticed that the rain had slowed to a light drizzle and, upon checking his watch, which informed him it was already ten past midnight, he realized a couple of hours had passed.

Olivia realized she had fallen asleep, God knows for how long, and that she was still lying naked on top of Elliot at the precinct. Her body tensed at the realization, telling Elliot she was fully awake. They lay there for a few minutes, holding each other, immobile, as if reality couldn't see them if they didn't move, as if they could make that moment last longer if they didn't change anything about it or acknowledge it in any way.

Eventually, Olivia moved to look up at him; he wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind. They just stared at each other for a few moments.

"We can't stay here," she eventually warned him, suddenly very aware of their state of undress and location. "Someone could walk in on us."

"The door's locked," was Elliot's weak, unconvincing reply.

"Even worse," she said, reluctantly breaking contact and sitting up. "I should go." She bent down to get her bra off the floor and started to put it on.

"Don't," Elliot countered, sitting up as well, his voice throaty. He wanted to justify his protest somehow, but the words never came. What reassurance could he give her? To tell her he loved her? What good would it do if he couldn't back it up? He wasn't ready to deal with the aftermath of what had just happened, he didn't even know what the situation of his marriage was, which reminded him he hadn't even talked to Kathy yet.

He wanted nothing more than to commit to this new possibility they had just started, make it real to the whole world and forget about the consequences, but it just wasn't that simple, and he knew that she knew that. He watched it as she put her clothes back on, racking his brain unsuccessfully; he couldn't find any arguments to stop her. When she was almost completely dressed, she turned around to look at him with a sad smile that told him she had already shut down, already erected her protective walls around herself again.

"I wish you could stay," he thought out loud in a small voice.

Olivia didn't allow herself to start thinking about what had happened between them. For the moment, she just focused on leaving before he did, carefully ignoring the fact that he wasn't trying to stop her. She had asked him to stay, and he had stayed, and it had meant the world to her. To have that shattered by the image of him leaving her behind after what they'd done was unbearable, so she decided to be the one to leave and let them both pretend he didn't have to.

"Me too," she said, leaning in to kiss him one last time before leaving.

Elliot watched it as she walked out, never looking back at him. He felt paralyzed, powerless. He felt like shit. For not being able to commit to her, for disrespecting his marriage, for letting Olivia walk out alone again, for not saying anything to Kathy for so long after their possibly life-changing conversation the night before. He felt like the more he tried to do right by everyone, the more he let everyone down, most of all himself. And yet, as much as he tried, he couldn't bring himself to regret this. He smiled, feeling like a complete fool. A fool in love.


	14. Aftermath

14 - AFTERMATH

Right before waking up, Elliot was having a weird dream that, afterwards, he couldn't quite recall; it was the general sensation of being in a white place, with lights and hallways and escalators and people wearing white; he could tell he was with a group of people, a familiar one, but he couldn't tell who the members of such party were. It was hazy and difficult to put into words in his own mind, and yet, he was more confused about the reality he woke up to. Olivia, lying naked on top of him, waking up, realizing she had to leave, giving him one last kiss and running off.

Now he was left there, sitting up on the narrow mattress of one of the bunk beds in the cribs, still looking at the door Olivia had walked through, his clothes scattered on the floor, the smell of her hair still lingering in his nose, the taste of her skin echoing in his mouth. It had felt so right, despite all the reasons why it shouldn't have, but she was gone again, and he was there, alone, still trying to process what had just happened. As he referred to memories of her body, her smoothness against his fingertips, her warmth enveloping him completely, all recent but already etched in his mind, he felt the beginnings of a new erection. He needed to snap out of it.

He was picking up his clothes, still unsure of what he was going to do, when his cell phone fell from somewhere, bouncing a few times before landing on the floor. Even before retrieving it, he already knew it would be the perfect reminder of reality, the best antidote to his body's responses to the aftertaste of Olivia, and he chuckled when he was proven right; there was a text message from Kathy. Just one, no phone calls. He let out a long sigh before opening it.

_Are you coming home tonight? We should talk._

Yes, they should. But how could he go home and talk now, when he was still so completely drunk on Olivia? After denying his feelings for her the night before, what was he supposed to do, just go home and tell Kathy she was right and, by the way, they'd just slept together? After agonizing over it for a few moments, he finally settled on a reply to send her.

_Sorry, swamped with the case, pulling an all-nighter. Talk tomorrow night?_

He didn't know exactly what difference it would make to tell her then or twenty-four hours later, but at least that bought him time, and he now had a plan for the night: he would spend the rest of it at the precinct. He took a shower, hoping the hot water would help him settle down, but the sleep he was able to get was restless. In his dreams, he went back to the white place where nothing was clear, except that this time he recognized some of the people around him, basically the usual suspects: Olivia, Kathy, Downey and even Wyatt, a gun in hand, but when he reached for Olivia to protect her from his bullet, she was gone, and then so was Wyatt, and so was everyone else. He was left all alone.

In the morning, he hadn't reached any decisions or resolutions, hadn't made any plans. Every time he tried to objectively analyze his situation and his next steps, thoughts of his night with Olivia took over and annihilated any possibility of coherent thinking. He wasn't used to feeling this out of control, at least not in terms of romantic feelings. Even back when he was young and in love for the first time, Kathy had soon gotten pregnant and turned their innocent, teenage affair into an official marriage, forcing him to grow up and become a provider for this instant family. It was a life with no room for doubt or uncertainty, impulsivity or irresponsibility. A happy life, a safe life, in which he knew exactly where he stood.

Being married for pretty much his whole adult life made it easy to keep any feelings directed at anyone else carefully in check, conveniently controlled and categorized inside a box that said "do not open". His feelings for Olivia, although at times illicitly and most definitely involuntarily acknowledged, had been secured under a thick layer of undeniable counterarguments, which had always been able to contain them whenever they threatened to surreptitiously resurface. He didn't know how to deal with them without those tight, albeit now proven rather fragile restraints.

He took another shower, now one he hoped would help him wake up, put on a clean change of clothes and went down to the squadroom. To his surprise, Eric Downey was already there, drinking coffee and working on something at his desk, looking completely absorbed. Elliot realized that the Brooklyn detective didn't seem so bad when Olivia was not around, when he was detached from the responsibility of taking her away from him.

"Anxious to get those reports?" he asked in a friendly tone as he passed by the detective, who turned around, looking startled.

"Just organizing everything for when they come," Downey replied, a bit defensive.

"Of course," Elliot said, smiling as he kept moving until he reached his desk, wondering if the animosity had anything to do with Olivia.

Well, how could the guy know anything? It was far more likely he still held a grudge over his already somewhat faded black eye and his busted, now less swollen lip. And it wasn't like he'd had any rights over her to begin with, especially now that she was definitely done with him. Or wasn't she? Elliot wondered what she would do about Downey; would she continue to see him? What would _he _do? Try to fix things with Kathy? Leave her for good? He had to think of something before their talk that evening, but he didn't have high hopes of achieving that. If he hadn't been able to think of something because thoughts of Olivia wouldn't let him, how exactly was spending the day near her supposed to help?

Like an answer to his questions, Olivia walked in from behind his desk, and somehow, she seemed even more beautiful than usual.

"Good morning," she said hastily to no one in particular, moving fast towards her desk to avoid any closer contact with Elliot, afraid she might give something away.

Before Elliot could reply, Downey dropped everything he was doing to approach her. With a hand on the small of her back, he lowered his voice to talk to her, standing way too close in Elliot's opinion; just like that, his rage towards him was back with a vengeance.

"Hey, how are you?" Eric said. "Feeling better?"

Olivia was taken by surprise. After her night with Elliot, it felt completely wrong to even be touched by Eric. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she thought there was something weird in the way he spoke to her; she didn't remember what exactly she had said to him to blow him off the night before, and she felt like he was testing her memory. It couldn't be true, though; there was no way he knew anything. How could he?

"I am, thanks," she said awkwardly, forcing a smile.

The rain from the previous night had caused the temperature to significantly drop, and the sun didn't help by timidly peering through the rare, small gaps between the grey clouds. Olivia removed her coat, a heavier one today, relieved that the heating in the squadroom was on and working, which wasn't always the case, even though she wondered if the fluster on her cheeks was caused by the warmth in the squadroom or the proximity to Elliot, at whom she was intentionally not looking.

"I missed you last night," Downey said, lowering his voice even more, and Elliot felt the vein in his neck pulsate with a sudden urge to stand up and tell this loser _she_ hadn't missed him at all the night before, that he had made sure she didn't even remember who the poor bastard was.

He swallowed nervously as he pushed all those feelings down. He knew that Downey couldn't have known that something had changed – _had _something changed? He knew everything had changed for him, but what about her? How could he know how she was feeling right now? He wanted to pull her aside to talk and ask her, but he still had nothing concrete to propose. All he knew was he wanted her, but that wasn't enough without a plan, and there would be no chance to think of one before talking to Kathy; he figured he had done enough before defining their situation. This was going to be a long day.

Olivia didn't know what to reply to Eric; her answer was a sheepish smile. He looked at her with a foreign intensity, and she felt like anything she said would be the wrong answer. She had spent most of the rest of the night thinking, but Eric hadn't been in those thoughts. It had been difficult to fall asleep with her mind anchored back at the station, and now, that she was standing physically so close to Elliot again after the circumstances in which she'd last seen him, it was even harder to focus her mind on anyone else. She wondered if Eric noticed that, but he was probably still focused on her instability and her memory loss from the night before. That must be the reason for his weirdness.

"Let me get you some coffee," he said, walking towards the coffee station.

"Thank you," she sighed, relieved that he had walked away and given her some breathing room.

She hadn't known it would be so hard to be around him after what had happened. She would have to talk to him. And end things? She hadn't thought about it at all, she hadn't made any decisions, but she knew whatever there had been between them was already over. There was no way to know if this thing with Elliot had any future at all, but she figured that, one way or another, she couldn't go on deceiving Eric; even before sleeping with Elliot, she had already known she didn't want to take things with him any further. It wasn't fair not to tell him.

For the first time, Olivia risked a tentative look at Elliot, who sat back in his chair, idly rolling a pencil between his fingers and deliberately staring at her. When their eyes met, he gave her a wide, boyish smile she was sure she'd never seen on his face before, and she couldn't help but smile back, slightly shaking her head in feigned disapproval, feeling it as her heart fluttered and pounded inside her chest. Elliot felt most of his doubt vanishing in that quick moment when she smiled at him; it was a wordless communication of complicity, a small but significant connection. She blushed, looking down and chewing on her lower lip, and it took everything in Elliot to keep himself glued to that chair.

Downey walked back towards her then, and Elliot took a deep breath as he watched the moron handing her a coffee mug, which she received with a smile, a forced one, in stark contrast to the one she'd just given him. He felt his blood boiling as he saw her lips touching the mug, as if it were an extension of Downey's body. Then, Downey whispered something, and they walked away together. This was going to be a _very _long day.

There was something definitely wrong with Eric's expression when he handed Olivia a steaming mug that she welcomed in her cold hands. Ever since she'd walked in he had been behaving quite territorially, making a point to approach her, touch her and monopolize her attention, purposefully excluding Elliot, the only other person near them at the moment. Maybe he knew.

"Can we talk for a minute?" he said quietly, sending a chill down her spine; Olivia's reply was to follow him out into the hallway.

When they stopped walking, it seemed to take him a minute to come up with whatever he wanted to say. Olivia sipped her coffee, anxious; she knew it couldn't be anything good. "What is it, Eric?" she asked, nervous, trying to move it along.

He put his hands together. "I just want to say something, and I hope you don't take this the wrong way," he started cautiously, making her frown. After a pause, he continued. "I know we just met and you don't owe me anything, so I want you to know I'm only saying this for your benefit."

Olivia bit her lip; there was no way this wasn't going to be about Elliot. He knew. But how? She continued to drink her coffee, faster than usual just so she would have something to do as she waited. And yet, even knowing what it was going to be about, she was still surprised by his words when they came out, still they made it seem like all her blood had come up to her face and the wind had been knocked out of her.

"This guy never looked at you differently in ten years," he said, his eyes narrow. "And now that there's someone getting close to you right in front of him, suddenly he's interested?"

Her lips parted, but nothing came out; she narrowed her eyes too, as though doing so would increase her cognitive ability enough to understand what he was trying to say. She didn't bother to pretend she didn't know who he was talking about, though. "Who said he's interested?" was all she could blurt out, and, to her surprise, he raised his hand defensively at her.

"Save it," he hissed through clenched teeth, the first, undeniable indication that he was personally bothered by this. "Please, I'm a detective."

"I have no idea what you're talking about…" she knew what it was, but her puzzled expression was not at all forced. How did he know? And what was he trying to say? What could a pseudo-possible-boyfriend be trying to say that would lead with _I know you don't owe me anything_?

"Look at my face," he motioned to his now greenish black eye. "The same guy who did this greeted me with a smile this morning."

Olivia was going to protest, but he didn't give her any chance to, he just went on with the show and tell.

"You could barely look me in the eye when you walked in," he continued. "You could never be a perp, you have the worst poker face. You're looking at me like you're guilty of murder."

She breathed out a laugh, looking down. "What is it you think you know?" she asked, biting her lower lip; she was now becoming annoyed at a fast pace.

"I'm not saying this for my sake, I'm saying it for yours," he said. "Ten years he's had to realize he has feelings for you. Ten years. Do you really think he's going to leave his wife now? Just think about it."

And just like that he walked away, back into the squadroom, leaving her behind, speechless. She remembered Elliot's words the previous day, when they were still fighting. _Downey's doing it all on purpose, can't you see? To turn us against each other. _Eric had said it himself; he wasn't saying that out of jealousy. _To have you all to himself_. Maybe by denying he had feelings, Elliot had confirmed it, and Eric had started trying to get him out of the picture. Which conspiracy theory should she believe in? She was tempted to side with Elliot, it was so much better than believing Eric's theory. _Ten years he's had. Ten years._

Not very long after that, the personal conundrums were quickly replaced in both Olivia and Elliot's minds as the answers about the evidence found in Wyatt's mother's house started to arrive. The report from the medical examiner confirmed that the bag of tools contained the murder weapon, which was a kitchen knife, and that the other tools in the bag had indeed been used to torture the victims; DNA from all three of them was found in those items, and they matched the wounds perfectly.

Apart from that, the other answers were much more vague. While there was DNA from the victims on the murder weapon and torture tools, there wasn't any DNA from anyone anywhere else in the house. Also, there were no prints on the weapons, the pictures, the journals or on anything else; nothing was found on the walls, windows or doors either. The fibers found didn't match the victims' clothes or any of the clothes found in Wyatt's place. In sum, there was no evidence putting Wyatt or the victims in the house.

The journals weren't back from analysis yet, but the preliminary report on the handwriting was inconclusive; at this point, there wasn't enough to prove that they'd been written by Wyatt or to rule out that possibility. As the team gathered in the squadroom to discuss those findings, Elliot thought about how they knew virtually nothing more than the night before; while the evidence was consistent with Wyatt being the killer, there was still nothing to undeniably prove it, nothing that actually put him in the house or with any of the victims.

"The house could still be the place," Munch was arguing. "Maybe Wyatt covered a whole room in plastic so there wouldn't be any evidence. We know he wore gloves the whole time, so he's definitely meticulous enough."

"Yes, but we still don't have any personal connection between Wyatt and Elizabeth Moore," Elliot pointed out. "There's also no physical evidence putting him in the house."

He exchanged a brief look with Olivia as she drank from her coffee cup; she'd been silent all along, afraid that if she started calling attention to the inconsistencies, the others might label it as "her paranoia", so she was thankful to see that Elliot was now questioning the case too. She looked at him, trying to see any signs that he might be doing this in light of the events of the previous night, but he was wearing his unmistakable skeptical expression, which elicited a small smile from her.

"Only the fact that it belonged to his mother," Downey said with a smile that reeked of outraged incredulity. "I didn't know you doubted Wyatt's guilt. Did Olivia persuade you somehow?"

Olivia's color left her face for a moment, then came back all at once, painting it bright red. She saw it as Eric shifted his eyes from her to Elliot with a wry smile. Elliot furrowed his brow, puzzled, but before he could address the remark, Downey continued like nothing had happened, all signs of any personal feelings gone without a trace.

"Are we really surprised by the lack of physical evidence?" he argued. "We knew from the beginning that he left no physical evidence behind."

"There was DNA on the tools," Elliot countered, raising an eyebrow and still trying to read Downey.

"Maybe he didn't have time to clean them as thoroughly while he was busy, you know, dying." Munch chuckled at his own sarcasm.

"I'm just saying," Elliot shrugged, unaffected.

"Do we have any surveillance near the house?" Fin asked. "What are the chances Wyatt screwed up and got caught on camera?"

"No, the address is pretty isolated," Downey replied. "There's only a traffic cam from an adjacent avenue, a couple of blocks away, but apparently the camera hasn't worked in the last six months and no one noticed until now."

There was still a lot to be processed, but even though a few things they had been expecting to be confirmed weren't, like evidence that the house was where Wyatt had kept, tortured and killed the victims, as far as 1PP was concerned, the case was still being closed with flying colors. Even with a few loose ends, the evidence pointed at only one suspect; there was currently nothing to support any other explanation other than that Jordan Wyatt had stalked and murdered the three victims.

Cragen's plan for the rest of the day was to tie as many of those loose ends as possible. While CSU was still processing the rest of the evidence found in the secret house, the detectives focused on a few follow-up interviews. While there wasn't going to be a prosecution, 1PP demanded that the case be thoroughly documented. That included calling in witnesses to give official statements at the station, for which Olivia, Elliot and Downey were responsible. Munch and Fin were out in the field re-interviewing a few relatives and friends of Elizabeth Moore's, a last attempt to find any evidence of how Wyatt had chosen her as one of his victims, as nothing had been found about that except for the photos he'd taken of her and his journals logging her movements.

The first three guests to be received at the precinct were Nicole Jennings, his estranged sister from Staten Island and Amber Hodgins, who could tell them more about her relationship with Wyatt and her connection with Robert Keen. The three detectives split up to take the statements; Olivia was responsible for Nicole's, while Elliot talked to Wyatt's sister, Jennifer, and Eric interviewed Amber Hodgins. Other people would also be heard throughout the day, including Robert Keen, who had scheduled his interview for later that evening.

Olivia greeted Nicole when she walked into the bullpen.

"How are you doing, Detective Benson?" she asked as they walked to an interrogation room. "Did you manage to get some sleep last night?"

Olivia had completely forgotten about the prescription Nicole had given her for sleeping pills, but even without them, that had been the night she'd gotten the most sleep in weeks. She felt her cheeks blushing as she remembered those two hours of quiet sleep in Elliot's arms.

"I did, yeah," she replied vaguely, motioning to the chair where Nicole was supposed to sit as she closed the door behind them. "Thanks for asking."

During the interview, Olivia asked Nicole about Wyatt again, and logged officially her comments about having been deceived by him, led to believe he was impulsive rather than calculating and manipulative. Maybe it was because none of that was new information to her, but Olivia had some trouble maintaining her focus as they talked and, at times, she had the impression she was having difficulty breathing, like there wasn't enough air in the room or her lungs didn't have enough strength to suck it in.

She could tell Nicole picked up on it, but she didn't say anything; as she was leaving, though, she stopped at the door and suggested Olivia talked to someone after the case was over.

"If you want, I can give you a few names," she offered.

"Thank you," Olivia said, suddenly in need to get out of that small room. "I'll call you."

After the psychiatrist was gone, Olivia walked towards the vending machine; she hadn't eaten anything, maybe her blood sugar was running low. On her way, she ran into Elliot, the sight of him bringing back the events from the previous night, which somehow seemed so far away now in her fuzzy state of mind. Her stomach fluttered as they got closer, adding to her overall dizziness. He smiled, a bit embarrassed; he'd been waiting all morning for a moment to talk to her alone, even though he knew he didn't have anything to say.

"Done with Nicole?" he asked, clearing his throat and shoving his hands into his pockets in a sudden self-conscious need to keep them busy.

Olivia was thankful for the work subject. "Yes," she sighed, then nodded, and they stared at each other for a moment. "What about the sister?" she asked, now her turn to clear her throat.

"Ah, well, you know…" he said. "Same as the other time we talked to her. She didn't want anything to do with him, couldn't wait to get the hell out of here."

"Yet another woman who doesn't need him," she commented, and now they had really run out of case-related small talk.

Elliot tried to focus on her eyes, even though his kept wandering down to her lips. He'd thought that it would be easier to deal with the sexual tension after sleeping with her, but it was the exact opposite. He wasn't used to these feelings that ran out of control whenever he saw her or as much as thought of her. It was different; for ten years, he'd grown used to counting on her, depending on her, trusting her, grown used to how she could make him feel supported, could defuse his worst moods, kept him grounded. It was a completely different feeling from this fluttering in his stomach, this thumping inside his chest. Not to mention the uncontrollable body responses; it was like a magnetic force was at work, pulling him to her.

"Liv…" he started, still unsure about how he was going to finish it; her eyes fluttered in response. "We should talk."

_Do you really think he's going to leave his wife now?_ The words involuntarily screamed inside Olivia's head as she nodded. Eric was right. She had been waiting for this, for the moment when he would pull her aside to talk, tell her that, great as it might have been, the night before had been a mistake. The time when he would bring up the real world. She saw his effort to focus on her eyes, and she knew this wasn't easy for him either. If they tried to go somewhere to talk, she doubted they'd be able to; they were using all their energy to keep at a safe distance from each other.

Elliot's phone rang loud in his pocket, and he wanted to ignore it, but he took it so he could check the caller ID. It said _Kathy_. Olivia saw it too, and Eric's words yelled again in her mind, deafeningly. _Just think about it._ He put it back in his pocket without picking up. _Ten years he's had to realize he has feelings for you._

"Tonight?" he pushed, anxiously, momentarily forgetting he was supposed to talk to Kathy. The ringing of the phone seemed to intensify to remind him.

Olivia felt the air escape her lungs at the thought of another night with him, but she didn't foresee much talking in that glimpse. His phone still rang, like the blaring of an alarm to remind them they were breaking the rules.

"Maybe you should answer it," she said, looking down, and she heard it as it came out harshly. She hadn't intended it that way, but she realized she was angry; not at him, but at herself.

"I can call her back," Elliot rushed to say, feeling like an idiot for not being able to say he didn't have to answer it.

He saw Olivia looking at his wedding ring and didn't know what to do. As much as he dreaded the conversation he was going to have with Kathy, and as much as he feared what would result of it, he knew that was what he needed to do in order to define this situation and hopefully have something concrete to give Olivia. But she had to know he wanted her; after the previous night, there was no way she didn't know that. After a few seconds in silence, the phone rang again in his pocket.

Olivia saw the hesitation on his face as the ringing restarted. She was waiting for him to say something about the situation of his marriage, since it kept inserting itself in the conversation, but he just stood there, looking lost. _I can call her back_. When she wasn't around, so he could lie without witnesses? Or maybe she was the one he was lying to. Or himself.

The truth was that none of it mattered, Olivia realized. Even if he did want to leave his wife, he would never have the courage to go through with it. She had been so stupid to believe even for a second that things might turn out differently. Had she? Even believed that at all? She wasn't sure. Her mind was on overdrive again, several voices screaming, Eric's words the loudest of all.

She remembered that night facing the mirror and felt ridiculous again; she had become the last thing she wanted to be, the other woman, hoping he would leave his wife for her, desperately hoping he would give her something to hang on to, something to help her believe she was wrong, Eric was wrong. _Ten years_. She felt her lungs tighten, and even in the open space of the hallway, there wasn't enough oxygen to force them back open.

"Excuse me," she said, turning to leave in a hurry.


	15. Avalanche

15 - AVALANCHE

His heartbeat. His heartbeat against her ear, loud at first, then slowing down, in perfect sync with her thoughts, becoming slower and more inaudible by the second, until they and everything else were swallowed by the silence of a safe, quiet sleep. His heartbeat always there, now more felt than heard, like a metronome, dictating the rhythm, the speed of everything, reminding her there was someone there, with her, a steady heartbeat to remind her own heart how to work, the peaceful rising and falling of broad, sturdy lungs, lungs that had no problem taking in enough air, lungs that could be trusted to be oxygen tanks if need be.

Her lifeline. Strong arms securing her in place, enveloping her every inch, reminding her of gravity but keeping her protected from it, grounded, tethering her in her flight and breaking her fall. She didn't want to count on it. He had everything she needed to survive if she were to ever put her life in someone else's hands, he had everything she needed to feel whole, to feel like part of something, to finally belong. But she didn't want to rely on it, she didn't want to grow accustomed to it. She had always known him to be all of that, but from a safe distance. Now, that the gap had been closed, how could she forget the sound of his heartbeat inside her ear as it sealed around the skin of his chest like a suction cup?

Olivia could still hear it in the back of her mind, but she didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing. She had always trusted only her own heartbeat, her own lungs, arms, never trusted anyone with anything of herself to tend to. It was the most contradictory feeling she'd ever experienced, to at the same time trust and not trust someone so completely not to let her down. To know and not know that he would be there for her. She didn't want to count on it. She couldn't. If she did and he failed her, she wouldn't be able to take it.

And yet, she found herself thinking back to that sensation, that sound and feel of his heartbeat, that memory of her head rising and falling with every breath he inhaled and exhaled. In that moment, she hadn't struggled to remember how to breathe like she did now, kneeling on the restroom floor. It had started out as an anxiety attack, very similar to the one she'd had after talking to Angela Stevens' mother. Maybe it had been triggered by Elliot's proximity in stark contrast to the ringing of his phone and all it represented. She had run straight to the restroom to try and get herself back together, but being suddenly all alone didn't help, and the next thing she knew, everything went dark and she lost her balance.

She landed on her knees and hands, and in the second she'd been stuck somewhere between consciousness and lack thereof, a hot, caustic liquid crawled up her throat, a small amount, not enough to constitute enough puke to expel, only enough to take a wrong turn on its way back down and obstruct the airway, instantly yanking her back into full consciousness as she started coughing and noisily trying to forcefully restore her breathing. It was the most desperate she'd ever felt, the closest to fighting to stay alive she'd ever come in the dreadful realization that life was this fragile, that dying could be as simple as an error in the act of swallowing.

In that moment of desperation, Olivia allowed herself to focus on those memories, the steady rising and falling of Elliot's thrumming chest under her head, the warmth of his arms, the safety of having all the oxygen one might need at her disposal and enough strength in her lungs, even when she'd struggled to catch her breath in those minutes between reaching climax and falling asleep. Slowly, she was able to undo the vacuum in her chest, even though it still hurt like hell to breathe in, but at least her body was once again filled with oxygen. She could still feel the hot liquid somewhere in her throat, threatening to come back up and making her afraid to ever swallow again, to ever lose sight of consciousness again.

Olivia let the minutes pass as she gained confidence in her breathing again and found enough strength to stand back up, slowly, gripping the sink for support. She was confused. Things had seemed clearer the night before, or at least not that complicated. The truth she was facing now and which had probably caused her anxiety was that, right as it might have felt to be with Elliot, feeling all of those sensations, experiencing the pleasure, the safety, the warmth he'd be capable of offering her if there was no hindrance, it had been wrong; he was a married man, and they were partners.

There was a reason – or a million reasons – why they'd steered clear of each other for so many years. Something in her had fed into the fantasy that it could happen, that it could work, against everything she knew to be true, and now reality had mercilessly hit her in the form of a shrilling ringtone. _Do you really think he's going to leave his wife? _No, she didn't. It sounded more preposterous every time the question replayed in her mind. If she had ever thought he would, that alone was the proof that she had completely lost it. As if she needed any more evidence these days.

It just wasn't him. A man who was willing to go back to a failed marriage because of an accidental baby wasn't going to leave behind a family after a night of mind-blowing sex with her, no matter how connected to each other they might have felt. Or had that been yet another illusion? She had been out of her mind, after all, certainly unhinged enough to kiss him and ask him to stay. He had worked way too hard on that family, on its stability and perfection, there was no way in hell he would leave that behind willingly, certainly not for her. She tried to access her memories of the previous night, searching for the evidence that had led her to believe there had, indeed, been a deeper connection other than the physical one, but she couldn't think of anything. Nothing concrete anyway. He was a man of concrete facts, and five children were a much more palpable connection than a hard-on. The echo of that ringtone started to sound a lot like a laugh in the middle of those thoughts; she felt utterly humiliated, even in the relative safety of her own mind.

She could still hear it. The ringtone. Both, actually; the ringtone and his heartbeat, the irony in the image of the cell phone ringing against his chest from his shirt pocket not lost on her. The ringtone coming from one side, his heartbeat pounding in her other ear, a stereo dichotomy she couldn't seem to run away from, a spectrum between those two extremes inside her head, loud voices screaming from both directions and meeting in the middle, leaving her little room to think or breathe. But she only needed to get through this day, she had decided: after that, she was off the case, possibly out of the unit. It went without saying that their partnership was ruined; Elliot himself had considered ending it for much less.

This was the line that could never have been crossed; on the other side of it lay the unavoidable abyss as their relationship could never be the same again after that night; it would either have to change or come to an end. As much as she dreaded it, Olivia knew change was on the other side, an impossible jump away from her as gravity pulled her into the abyss that represented the end. It was all over, and she wouldn't stick around to watch it burn into flames. She'd just leave and make it all easier for the both of them. That was the mindset Olivia wanted to stick to as she left the restroom, in hopes that would later prove to be frustrated that deciding so would silence the voices in her head, which kept discussing the matter, bringing more facts to the fore and debating endlessly.

Unable as she was to escape the inner turmoil, getting through that day was certainly easier said than done. Olivia carefully coordinated her interviews with Elliot's so that one of them was always stuck in the interrogation room while the other wasn't, keeping the accidental running into each other in the hallways or the squadroom to a minimum. Every time he did get close enough to her, though, he was faced with a different verdict from the jurors that yelled in her mind. Every word that he spoke or move that he made was carefully placed into an evidence bag, catalogued and thoroughly scrutinized. The evidence was gathered from him, but the sentencing was ultimately directed at herself.

Initially, the facts suggested that the awkwardness in his demeanor was an overall inability to come to terms with what had happened and how that changed things. As the hours passed, though, the investigation took a different turn as Olivia understood that what Elliot was struggling with were not conflicted feelings, but pure and simple pity. She had spent ten years hiding her vulnerable side from him, shown nothing but strength, independence and fearlessness, and in one night it all had shattered, when she had allowed herself to falter and not only debunk her own hoax, but also request him to address those newly revealed needs, singled him out as the key element to patch her up.

The automatic reaction from a man like him was to fall right into the knight in shiny armor routine, as unable to resist the damsel in distress coming undone right in front of him as he was afterwards incapable of maintaining the same respect she'd spent such a long time earning from him. It wasn't enough that her feelings for him were not reciprocated, but the positive feelings he did have for her, the friendship, the admiration, the trust, had undoubtedly been affected negatively. He had looked into her deepest secrets and seen her weakness, her neediness, her loneliness. He had pitied her so badly that he had momentarily forgotten everything he believed in, ignored the sacred ring on his finger and fucked her, given her a taste of what she could never truly, rightfully have, and now he knew.

Now he knew how she felt about him, now he could see how she had suffered in silence for so many years watching him leave her every night to go back to his true family, his real wife, the person he had chosen to share his life with, as opposed to someone assigned to work alongside him. Now he knew that all the times she had toughed it out and given him advice on his relationship, smiled as she listened to family stories and fought to keep his marriage safe from harm, it had all been a lie, it hadn't come from the heart, or rather, had come from a broken heart, unskillfully glued back together, day after day, until there was more glue than organic tissue.

With every awkwardly exchanged word, every uncertain glance stolen, Olivia became more and more convinced that Elliot was trying to find the best way to let her down easy. On top of everything else, now he knew how fragile she really was, and how deeply it would affect her when he was forced to brutally destroy all the hopes and dreams he had now witnessed she had but which he would never be able to fulfill. Maybe it was even worse, and the glimpse he'd had into her feebleness hadn't been enough for him to assess just how devastated she would be once he inevitably told her that they needed to forget what had happened and move on, that crossing that line had been a terrible mistake and that ignoring it, as they'd done before, when all of this had started, was no longer an option, not only because it had proven completely ineffective, but also because the damage was now immeasurably bigger.

Olivia did try to focus on something else, anything else, clutching desperately to the task at hand to preserve what little sanity she could still at least feign. She did her best to thoroughly document the interviews, which gave her a few breaks as they at least momentarily kept her mind busy and her anxiety at bay, even though she was having a really hard time maintaining focus. She confused witnesses' names a few times, needed a moment to regain her balance another couple of times, which she hoped she had been able to convincingly conceal from the interviewees. But through all that, she wrote down all she could, every single word, unimportant as it might seem.

She tried forcing herself to eat in order to get some energy, but she had no appetite whatsoever, and her throat was still sore from the episode in the restroom, only accepting fluids without objection. She also had to pretend to everyone else in the precinct that everything was fine, that she was doing great physically and mentally, especially to Eric who, after his unsolicited advice in the morning, never again said anything at all related to the issue and went back to his usual self, next to her as much as he could, providing support and auditioning for the role of her new partner. Well, now she did need a new one.

As the hours crept by in an excruciating, never-ending wait, the bits and pieces of strange, clumsy exchanges between her and Elliot accumulated, and in her resignation that nothing could be done, a conclusion she was sure he had also reached by now, Olivia expected him to at least stop tiptoeing around her like she might break at any second and just talk to her already, say whatever he needed to say and get it over with. It started making her beyond uncomfortable; now she was becoming flat out mad, outraged that he now didn't even respect her enough to be straight with her and end the charade once and for all. Instead, he gave her uncertain smiles, self-conscious looks, obvious case-related remarks that were mere substitutes to the awkward silences that she knew he actually meant.

Exhaustion couldn't begin to describe her state as she landed heavily in her chair after her last interview, deciding to call it a day and getting momentarily distracted watching the sunset, which was being quickly replaced by dark clouds with the promise of another rainy evening. Before parking in her chair, she had walked by the captain's office and concluded that he had left while she worked on her last interview – actually, second to last, but when her last guest of the day, Robert Keen, had arrived, Eric had offered to interview him for her, claiming she looked really tired.

Well, she would have to talk to the captain some other day then, but her decision was already made: as of this moment, she was off the case and out of SVU. There was no discussion; when she got the chance to talk to Cragen, it would be simply to inform him about this. She started getting ready to leave; it occurred to her to pack her desk, but she could do that some other time. Now, she just needed to get the hell out of there, preferably before Elliot emerged from the interrogation rooms as well. That way, she could delay, if not avoid altogether, the moment of informing him too.

Since Elliot hadn't had the courage to say anything yet, she decided she didn't need to hear it at all. It would be better off this way. She would just leave without seeing him again and call the captain in the morning. When Elliot heard of her departure, she would be long gone. She felt so relieved coming up with that plan that she realized she had actually been dreading the moment he would pull her aside and tell her. She had been terrified. As much as she had been preparing herself, she knew something inside her would irrevocably break when she heard the words coming out of his mouth. The last few interviews had kept her busy enough to avoid thinking about how, as the day came closer to an end, they got closer to that moment of confrontation that she was so scared of.

She had been able to hide that feeling from herself until now, but as soon as her mind wavered in its resolve to keep the issue at bay, the undeniable, devastating truth came back with a vengeance, swallowing her whole. If she had felt rejected that first night Elliot had kissed her, that was absolutely nothing compared to what she was feeling at this cruel realization. The worst of it all wasn't even that she had allowed herself to believe for a night that there could be something between them: the worst part was that she had secretly believed it for years, a belief so well hidden that it was invisible even to her. Until that night, when it had broken free.

All of those thoughts and feelings hit her at once, in the space of a couple of minutes and a single tear, which ultimately shook her from her reverie; she was not going to cry, not here, not where Elliot could see her, or where Eric could see her, or where _she _could see herself. She erased the traces of moisture with the back of her hand as she wrenched her eyes off of the sky through the smudgy, barred window and once again focused on the task at hand, her desk, her notes on the interviews, the colorless, dull view of her entire day and her urgent plan to leave immediately. At least the case was over. She was now happy to subscribe to Wyatt being the killer if that meant that she could leave all of that behind. A case that had in so many ways screwed up her entire life, one which she hadn't known would turn out to be her last one. She remembered what Nicole Jennings had said about talking to someone; maybe she really would.

That thought of Nicole reminded Olivia that she was waiting for a call from 1PP; even though there was no indication that it had anything to do with the case, after speaking to the shrink again that morning, she had decided to follow up on her and Angela's previous work with the NYPD. She had called 1PP to ask who would have information about that collaboration and got referred to Human Resources. The woman she spoke to from HR initially indicated that it would be difficult to find the information she was looking for – basically how long Nicole and Angela had worked with the police and a list of their patients – given that the NYPD had already outsourced psychiatric services numerous times and from hundreds of different professionals, but she took note of Angela and Nicole's names and information and promised to look and get back to her.

She had just finished checking the notes on her desk with phone messages left while she had been in the interrogation room – none from the HR woman – when Elliot walked in, making her curse under her breath over the fact that she hadn't been able to leave without seeing him. He seemed to instantly become a bit self-conscious as soon as their eyes met, looking away the next second and leaving Olivia some room to continue watching him as she realized she was now disgusted whenever he came to mind or into view. She wasn't sure if the feeling was directed at him or herself. Or both.

"Keen's waiting in the interrogation room," he said in a casual tone, looking to make conversation. "Are you going to talk to him?"

Olivia was silent for a moment, staring at him blankly, some negative emotion he couldn't quite pinpoint shining through her features. "No, Eric offered to do it," she eventually replied, now looking away as she hurriedly turned off her computer and started gathering her things, as though she was getting ready to leave.

"Oh, okay," he said absent-mindedly, taking a few tentative steps towards her desk. "I was really hoping you'd ask him about Amber Hodgins. I wanted a clearer timeline on that."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" she rasped abruptly, looking visibly annoyed and only holding his gaze for a brief moment before looking away again. "Or tell Eric to ask. I don't care. I'm leaving."

Elliot frowned. She had been weird all day, clearly avoiding him, but he had figured she was only uncertain about how to act around him in front of other people after what had happened. They hadn't yet had a chance to really be alone together and get a sense of how they were both feeling, of the impact of the night before on their relationship; he figured that awkward moment earlier didn't count. At least he hoped so.

To be honest, he had welcomed her distance throughout the day, as he had been confronting some confusing feelings of his own. As much as he was determined to talk to Kathy, to come clean about what had happened, which would probably be the last nail in the coffin of their marriage, he couldn't help but feel guilty for having slept with Olivia before actually ending the relationship. The way he saw it, it was still betrayal, and a part of him hated himself for having cheated.

Either way, as much as they had both avoided the issue all day, trying to focus on getting through the last few steps of the case, he had expected her to at least check in at some point, allow them a moment to connect briefly, even if only to say they would talk later, so he couldn't help the feeling of utter shock when she replied so harshly, just a second before grabbing her coat and purse and rushing past him.

"Hey," was all he could manage when he was able to start following her. "Where are you going?"

"Home," she said simply, not looking at him, as she stood in front of the elevators, impatiently punching the button.

"Okay," he replied cautiously. "But we'll talk later."

"There's nothing to talk about," she said, her hand now slamming the elevator button more violently.

"What?" he approached her. "What do you mean? Of course we need to talk about…"

"Don't," she turned to look at him with a hand raised in warning and clear rage in her eyes. "I know what you're going to say, so you can save it."

He smiled; _he _didn't know what he was going to say, what did she think she knew? The elevator doors dinged open then, and she moved to get in, but he held her arm to keep her in place.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" he said, trying to buy time, but he wasn't expecting her violent reaction to his touch. She yanked her arm to try and break free while her other arm swung to try to slap his hand away. He was able to tighten his grip and not let her escape. "What are you doing?"

After another moment of struggle, Olivia settled, now both of her arms restrained by his hands while hers tugged at his shirt so as not to give up the fight completely. "You can save it, all right?" she said through gritted teeth. "We can skip all the drama, the guilt and the shame. We can forget all about it and you can just move on with your life and go back to your family. I won't be a constant reminder of your slip, so you might as well pretend it never happened."

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, shocked, loosening his grip on her arms a little as he flashbacked to that night she had pulled him aside to tell him she was done with him. Apparently, she was going through the same memory.

"I should have been long gone," she said. "Before all of this. I told you. I knew we were done and I had to go, but instead I stayed and now look what happened."

"All right, all right," Elliot raised his voice; once again, she was on overdrive and he just couldn't keep up. "Let's back up for a second. What the hell are you talking about? Are you talking about last night? I don't think we can pretend it never happened."

She started struggling again then, and he circled an arm around her waist to try and have better control. "I don't want to," he asserted, making her look into his eyes and stand still for a moment as she seemed to be making calculations in her mind. She relaxed her resistance a little.

"Elliot, it's okay," she smiled, still enraged, but making a visible effort to control her features. "I won't break. I can take it."

"Take what?" he insisted.

"Oh, give me a break, Elliot!" She raised her voice again, exasperated, that fragile, feigned composure completely gone. "Do you really feel the need to always be the good guy? It's okay to be an asshole once in a while. Actually, you used to be pretty good at that, before you started thinking I was a mess. Well, big surprise, I am. Poor Olivia, all alone in the world, drunk mother, rapist father, not a single successful relationship, deemed unfit to be a mother by all standards. But I was always able to handle myself, so you don't need to treat me like I'm about to fall apart."

During her speech, Elliot slowly let go of her, keeping his hands on alert in case of any sudden movements. "I thought you knew me better than that," he said, his voice calm even though her words stung as they sank in. "Do you really think that's my opinion of you?"

She seemed to waver in her rage, her eyes wondering as though looking for evidence that might support what he was saying. He took a hesitant step towards her, as though approaching a scared animal, but his caution wasn't enough, and she took a step back in response.

"I don't need you," she grunted in a warning tone. "I don't need you to take care of me."

"I know that," he said with a crooked, sad smile. "You think I don't know that? It's really frustrating too. All the while through this case I was lost, watching you spin out of control, not knowing what to do."

The doors closed again, and Olivia rushed to press the button, but the elevator was already on its way down. "Well, it's not your problem," she said, punching the button again and looking up at the display that showed the elevator's slow path. "I'm not your problem."

She swiftly turned around to move toward the stairs, and Elliot went for her arm again, but this time, it seemed like she had only been waiting for a good reason to attack, because her reaction was to lunge at him, trying to hit him with the most varied types of blows, of which he knew at least one slap landed noisily on his face. "Stay the hell away from me," she was saying angrily between hits as Elliot tried to defend himself and understand why she was so mad at him.

He had, at least partly, expected her to go into defensive mode and, to some extent, try to deny the previous night, but he hadn't expected her to have a breakdown, especially not one with so much anger directed at him. She had seemed so much better the night before, like she was finally getting over the emotional impact that the case had been having on her, but now it seemed like she was right back there again, losing her mind, the symptoms amplified like never before.

"Hey, what's going on?" Elliot heard in the middle of the commotion, and in the next second, he saw that Eric Downey had been able to get Olivia a few feet away from him and was struggling to hold her back.

"It's okay, let her go," Elliot demanded, not at all happy to see those hands touching her in any manner.

"What the hell is going on?" Downey said as he still struggled with her, then turned to Elliot. "What the hell did you do to her?"

"Did _I _do?" Elliot scoffed, then started approaching them. "This is between my partner and me, back off."

As he approached, Olivia made an attempt to break free and attack him again, but Downey was able to contain her. "Let me go!" she yelled in protest.

"It looks like _you _need to back off, pal," Downey said, and Elliot could swear he was smiling. "She doesn't seem to want you anywhere near her."

"She can tell me herself, _pal_!" Elliot yelled back.

"She _is_, can you take a hint?" Downey raised his voice as well, and Elliot hated that the son of a bitch seemed to be right. "Come on, Liv, I'll take you home," he said to her, but looking at Elliot with what looked like disgust, shaking his head.

As though paralyzed, Elliot watched it as they moved away, Olivia still reluctant and struggling to free herself, but eventually just walking away with him as they went for the stairs. "I'll call you later," he risked towards them, but neither gave any indication they'd heard him. He just stood there, still panting from the struggle, looking at where he'd last seen her long after she had disappeared.

The sound of the elevator startled him back into the present, and through the doors he saw Robert Keen walking out.

"Mr. Keen?" he said, confused.

"Oh, hi, Detective," he replied. "I forgot my scarf in the interrogation room."

"This way," Elliot said, leading the man, his mind still reeling from what had just happened.

Of course, the case was affecting Olivia, that was nothing new, but it was as good as closed now, even she was willing to accept that, so why did she seem to be going even further off the rails? Had something happened during one of her interviews to trigger her like that? He opened the door to the interrogation room. "There you go."

Keen walked in and looked around for a moment before bending over to take his scarf, which lay out of view under the chair. Elliot remembered the look on Olivia's eye when he had asked her about interviewing Keen. _Why don't you ask him yourself?_ He figured he would; with Downey having left with her, he wouldn't know if he had asked the question about Amber Hodgins he had hoped would clarify the timeline.

"Mr. Keen, I'm sorry to ask again," he started as they were walking back towards the squadroom. "I'm sure you've gone over this with Detective Downey, but since he's not here now, would you mind just answering a question for me?"

"No problem, I guess," Keen shrugged as they stopped next to Elliot's desk.

"Thank you, it's just for the record," he said, taking his notepad and clicking his pen. "Can you confirm the period during which you dated Amber Hodgins?"

"Amber who?" Keen retorted.

Elliot's hand froze, holding the pen in place against the paper. He looked at Keen. "Amber Hodgins, your ex-girlfriend."

Keen frowned. "I'm sorry, Detective, there must have been some misunderstanding, I've never dated anyone named Amber. Who is this Amber Hodgins anyway? Does she have anything to do with what happened to Anna?"

Elliot was flabbergasted. He opened a file on his desk to confirm, maybe he had confused her name? He had talked to so many people that day, it made sense that he might get confused. But that was it; that was the correct name.

"What was the name of your girlfriend before Anna?" he tried from a different angle.

Robert Keen took a moment to think. "I hadn't dated anyone in years before her," he said, puzzled. "And I don't even know anybody named Amber. How is this relevant?"

Elliot started rifling through the sheets of paper in the file until he found what he was looking for: the surveillance images showing Jordan Wyatt outside the agency where Keen worked.

"The relevance, Mr. Keen, is that this is supposed to be the connection between the killer and Anna." He showed him the pictures. "This is the killer, Jordan Wyatt, standing outside the corporate building where you and Anna worked. He'd been stalking you."

Keen squinted, analyzing the pictures, then took them in his hands for a better look. "This is the man who killed Anna?" he said. "But here, this isn't the right building."

"What are you talking about?" Elliot bent down to look at what Keen was pointing as he laid the pictures on the desk.

"This building looks a lot like the one where I work, but here, my building doesn't have this revolving door. I don't know where this was taken."

Elliot stood up straight again. He didn't know either. "Well, thanks again for your time," he said in a final tone, dismissing Keen, who begrudgingly walked away, still looking confused.

After he left, Elliot searched everywhere for the original surveillance images, but couldn't find them. He remembered seeing Downey looking at them on the big screen, so he checked the computer connected to it, but found nothing. He asked a uniformed officer still on duty to ask Brooklyn police for the original images while he went to his desk to try Amber Hodgins' number; she had been the one to mention the relationship, so he figured he'd ask her again. Downey had been the one to interview her, and he didn't want to call him to ask if she had mentioned Keen again.

"Amber Hodgins?" he said when he heard an answer on the other end of the line.

"Yes, who's this?" she replied.

"This is Detective Stabler, NYPD Special Victims."

"I was just there this morning," she said, protest clear in her tone.

"I know, and I'm really sorry to bother you again, but is there a chance you could come back here in the morning? There are just a couple of questions we still need to ask you, I could come to you if that's more convenient…"

"I just don't understand why I need to keep answering the same questions over and over again," she interrupted impatiently. "I dated Jordan years ago, I've already put this behind me, and your colleague made me relive so many things I had already been able to forget…"

Elliot sighed, shaking his head. "I know, and I'm really sorry, Miss Hodgins. Let me just ask you something then, I just need to confirm with you again the period during which your relationship with Robert Keen took place."

She went silent for a moment. "My relationship with who? I thought this was about Jordan."

Elliot couldn't believe his ears. Everything was falling apart around him, all the evidence that had helped them crack the case was crumbling around him. He heard Amber on the other end of the line calling for him, but he just thanked her and put the phone back on the receiver, trying to connect the dots. Munch walked in then, and Elliot was relieved, because there was no one else there that he could discuss this with.

"John, you're back," he said, omitting a _Thank God_.

"Yes, but I just came to get my keys, I'm done for the day. Fin already went home, the lucky bastard."

"So you didn't find anything?" Elliot asked rhetorically.

"Nada, my friend. Nothing promising anyway. The only thing resembling someone with a grudge against Elizabeth was a man with a house in Montauk she couldn't sell because of some legal mess. Apparently the guy blamed her, but then they never heard of him again. And no, nobody recognized Wyatt as the guy, they could barely remember what he actually looked like. A guy said he had blond hair, another said he had brown hair."

"Is there any paperwork on the house?" Elliot asked.

"They couldn't find it, but they're still looking. They'll send it if they can find it." Munch approached Olivia's desk, showing a folder he was holding. "By the way, someone gave this to me on my way in, it was just faxed over to Olivia, from HR, they said, I didn't understand what it was about."

"Forget that," Elliot said urgently, lowering his voice and stopping Munch in his tracks. "I need to tell you about something I found out."

"Oh no, here we go," Munch retorted. "The case is closed, don't start finding new things now, please."

"Munch, I'm not sure there _is _a case."

"Don't be dramatic," he said dismissively, but Elliot saw that he was now ready to listen closely. "What is it?"

"There's no connection between Wyatt and Anna. Robert Keen and Amber Hodgins have never even met each other."

"Oh boy," Munch said, dropping the papers on Olivia's desk clumsily, knocking her mug over in the process and spilling some coffee still left in it onto the papers and on her keyboard. "Damn it!" he said.

The officer Elliot had enlisted to help him earlier walked in then, and he turned around to talk to him.

"Detective, Brooklyn police says there are no surveillance tapes."

"What do you mean there are no tapes?" he grated, barely hearing himself over the loud thumping of his chest. "Did you tell them they were from Anna Perkins' case?"

"I did, just like you told me, they said there's nothing, sorry."

"The serial killer case, did you mention it was the serial killer case?" Elliot knew he was being redundant.

"Yes, I did," the officer insisted; Elliot took a deep breath and finally nodded, resigned.

"All right, thank you," he said, then turned around after the officer left. "John, I don't like this one bit."

Munch was now sitting in Olivia's chair; apparently, he had given up cleaning the spilled coffee and was now reading the papers he had stained with it.

"Did you hear that?" Elliot called, approaching him. "We're going to have to ask Downey where he got those surveillance images from, because the people in his precinct say there aren't any."

"Add that to the list of things we need to ask him," Munch said, looking up at Elliot. "The fax that arrived for Olivia? Apparently Angela Stevens used to work with the NYPD providing mandatory counseling after shootings and stuff. Guess who she cleared for duty after his partner's death two years ago?"

Elliot's heart sank. "You gotta be kidding me."

His eyes widened in terror as he realized something. He raised Olivia's coffee mug to his nose to sniff it, identifying a weird chemical smell.

"What's wrong, Elliot?" Munch stood up, now looking alarmed.

"Son of a bitch, he was drugging her."


	16. Personal

16 - PERSONAL

_We got off the elevator and walked to her door in silence. I knocked, and we waited. I looked at Olivia; she was worried. The vic was unstable, had been since the beginning, and now, when it was all about to be over, she had failed to appear to testify on her rapist's trial. I thought she must have chickened out, it had always been a risk, but Olivia was worried it might be something more serious. When I was about to knock again, we heard her voice behind the closed door._

"_Who is it?" she asked._

"_It's me, Olivia," she said; she'd had a good rapport with the victim since we had first interviewed her. "Please open the door."_

"_Go away," she asked. "I just want to put this behind me."_

_Just as I'd thought: she'd chickened out. Her testimony was important, of course, but there was plenty of evidence, we didn't exactly need her. I'd said that to Olivia. The ADA had asked us to check on her, find out why she hadn't shown up, but that didn't necessarily hurt the case against the perp; for a rape case, it was pretty solid. She was fine, she was at home, she just didn't want to testify anymore; we'd done our job and could move on. _

"_That's ok, Ally," Olivia insisted. "That's your choice. But please open the door, I just want to talk to you for a minute. I want to make sure everything's fine."_

_She looked at me, visibly worried, as she waited for a reply; I wanted to leave, but I could wait a few minutes if seeing Ally would give her some peace of mind. The door opened slowly then and, when we were able to see Ally, it was clear she had been crying. She was wearing pajamas, and her long, brown hair looked like it hadn't been washed in the last few days; she was a mess. _

_Olivia didn't show any reaction to Ally's appearance; no judgment, no pity, even her worry was successfully contained. She just waited until Ally turned away from us as she led us in to give me an almost panicked look that lasted for less than a second. _

"_What happened, Ally?" she asked, already recomposed, her voice controlled, warm but firm. "Are you all right?"_

"_No, I'm not," Ally replied, starting to cry. She hurriedly disappeared into her bedroom for a moment, then came back holding something. "Look at this."_

_She handed Olivia a pregnancy test stick, and I saw that Olivia froze in place, holding it. _

"_What am I going to do now?" Ally cried. "I have a… a piece of… of _him_. Growing inside me. And all I can think is I don't want it, I want it to die!"_

_Olivia shook off her shock, dropping the stick on the coffee table. She touched Ally's arm lightly, leading her to the couch, where they sat together. I stood there, like I wasn't a part of it, somewhat afraid to interfere; now I really wished we had left when I had wanted to leave. Olivia held both of Ally's hands until she managed to stop crying._

"_This is not the moment to make any decisions," Olivia said, looking deep into Ally's eyes. "Sleep on it, give it a few days… Talk to someone."_

"_There's nothing to think or talk about," Ally protested, freeing one of her hands to dry her tears. "I'm not going to keep it. How could I keep it? This... _thing_ was never meant to exist."_

_I saw that her words impacted Olivia, but she concealed it well in the next second. Her voice showed confidence when she spoke again._

"_Take some time anyway. I just want you to make sure you don't rush to make a decision; if, in a few days from now, that's still how you feel, then you should end the pregnancy. That's your right."_

_Ally was calmer now, but tears restarted rolling down her face slowly. "Am I a terrible person?" she asked. "It… this baby… it's an innocent life. It didn't do anything to me. But… Do I have the right to end a life? Am I a terrible person for hating it so much?"_

_Olivia closed her eyes as she vehemently shook her head. "Absolutely not!" she said, offering a warm, reassuring smile. "Don't look at it like that. You absolutely _don't _have to keep this child. It didn't do anything, but neither did you. You didn't want any of this. None of this is your fault. You have to do what's right for you."_

_Ally nodded, relieved, then she squeezed Olivia's hands. "Will you come with me? For the… for the procedure?"_

_Olivia's eyes widened for a second, but then she smiled reassuringly again. "Of course."_

_We left a few minutes after that, when Olivia felt sure enough that Ally wasn't going to do anything stupid. All the way down in the elevator and out into the street we were silent. I couldn't read Olivia, but I knew she was concealing some emotion, like she had while speaking to Ally. _

"_You did great back there," I risked, hesitant but honest, figuring that would give her an opportunity to share whatever it was in case she wanted to._

_I was trying to be supportive, but I was also really impressed with how she'd dealt with the situation. I had already noticed she was good with the victims; she always got involved in the cases, like it was personal, like she was part of the victim's families, like that terrible thing was happening to her a little bit as well. She nodded at my comment, but then I saw that she was crying, silently, not cringing, not making any sound, just a couple of tears rolling down. I stopped walking and touched her arm for a second, making her stop too._

"_Hey, what's the matter?" I asked softly, not sure how I was supposed to deal with it. _

_If a male partner cries, and that happens sometimes at SVU, you just sit there in silence, put a hand on his shoulder and support him by acknowledging it but not making a big deal out of it either. How was I supposed to support a female partner who was crying without being patronizing or something? Well, I improvised, trying my best with the little experience I had with situations like this; she had never gotten emotional in front of me before. _

"_Look, I know you get involved and you take things personally," I said tentatively. "I think that makes you very good at this job. I really do. What you did for that girl back there… You said the right thing in an impossible situation. Maybe with time you'll suffer less with this kind of thing."_

_She dried her tears and smiled, looking up at me and mouthing a "thank you". Then, after a deep breath, she spoke. _

"_You know, I always think about it…" she started, looking away from me and shaking her head. "I wonder if… If someone had been there to talk to my mother, to tell her about her options, if someone had supported her… said something like what I just said back there…" she looked at me for a second, then lowered her eyes to her feet and whispered, almost as if she was hoping I wouldn't be able to hear it. "If she would still have kept me."_

_It finally dawned on me, and I felt like a complete idiot for thinking her fragility was lack of experience, for labeling her tears as those of an emotional rookie. It wasn't that she took it personally; it _was_ personal. I finally understood how painful this job must be for her and how strong she had to be in order to be able to do it and so well. _

_I found myself in awe, in a state of utter admiration and respect for this young woman who had just become a detective and joined my unit. Resigned and silent, I put my hand on her shoulder, gave it a light squeeze and waited until she was ready to move on. In that moment, I knew for sure in my gut that, one way or another, this woman was going to be important in my life._

* * *

"Elliot? What are you doing here?" Melinda Warner asked as Elliot stormed into her lab in the middle of an autopsy.

"Could you do me a favor?" he asked, showing her the mug and putting away his cell phone, which he had been using to try Olivia's cell and home numbers almost incessantly, with no luck. "I need to know what's in here.

She smiled. "An NYPD mug? I don't even need to look to know that's coffee."

Elliot ignored the joke and simply walked to her, holding out the mug for her to smell. She sniffed and frowned.

"Right?" he said. "Please, I need you to test it, and fast."

"It could be some kind of amphetamine," she said. "I'll run a test. Who…?"

"Someone drugged Olivia with this, and possibly kidnapped her," he said, not willing to name any names yet, just meaning to illustrate the urgency of the matter. "I can't wait," he said, already heading out. "Call me or Munch when you find anything, will ya?"

His mind was racing; slowly, everything was starting to make sense. All that coffee Downey kept bringing her all the time, every day – and he had thought it was a territorial thing to get to _him_. He was a self-centered son of a bitch; that bastard had always meant to get to Olivia, from every side. And he had let him take her away.

He drove to her place next; while he was convinced that wasn't Downey's final destination, he'd hoped that, whatever his plan was, he might have wanted or needed to swing by her place for some reason, to get something, or to keep her from suspecting his actions. Elliot kicked down the door and searched the place, but as he feared, there was no sign of them having been there recently and nothing to indicate where he might have taken her.

Back at the precinct, the whole team had been called back in due to the recent turn of events, with Olivia's disappearance, her drugged coffee and Downey's forging of evidence and concealing of his connection to Angela Stevens. He wasn't answering his phone either, and in Elliot's mind, there was no doubt that he had been behind everything from the beginning, including the murders.

"We need to search his place," he kept repeating impatiently every now and then.

"Cabot's working on the warrant," the captain eventually replied, probably hoping to close the matter. "We can't just break in, you know better than that."

"Captain, he has Olivia, and we already know his M.O. He's probably already torturing her right now."

"And that's exactly what Cabot is arguing with the judge whose dinner she's interrupting. We have a patrol car in front of his building in case he shows up, and we'll get in there the minute Cabot gives me the green light."

"But are we thinking he's the killer?" Fin asked, confused, arms crossed, his eyes going from one person to the next as he waited for an answer.

"Why else would he forge evidence to mislead us?" Elliot was getting more and more impatient; they had taken long enough to figure things out, this wasn't the time for stupid questions.

"He could be protecting someone," Fin countered, shrugging.

"Olivia saw it," Elliot shook his head as he thought out loud. "She said someone was framing Wyatt to get us off their scent. Even full of drugs in her system, she saw it and we didn't."

"Do you think that's why he took her?" Munch suggested. "Because she started to suspect something was wrong?"

"And investigate on her own," Elliot added. "She was looking into Angela's work with the police, she would have found his connection to her."

"And you started seeing holes in it too," Munch recalled. "Remember how he reacted when you agreed with Olivia yesterday?"

Elliot nodded, remembering Downey's question about how Olivia had influenced his opinion, making him wonder if he knew anything about what had happened in the cribs – he now figured he probably did.

"She was starting to drift away from him too," he added. "He figured she was getting out of his control and decided to go ahead and take her."

"Do you think that was his plan all along?" the captain asked.

"It had to be. Since he got here, his focus was always on her." He sighed, the guilt for having allowed the guy to get close to her washing over him. "Maybe he was going to wait until the case was closed, but in my mind he was always going to take her."

"But whenever he did it, we would know that Wyatt was not the guy," Munch retorted. "His charade would blow up anyway."

"But he'd be long gone," Fin pointed out.

"None of that matters now," Elliot said in a definitive tone. "The fact is he has her, and he'd been stalking her for a while, too. He's been waiting a long time for this moment, and we can't let him have it."

"I agree, but we need to go back to the beginning," Munch countered, speaking softly. "Everything we think we know about the case, forget it. Anything could have been tampered with. If you think about it, Downey was the one who came up with all the key evidence to crack the case. He came up with the connection between Amber and Keen, then he found the false surveillance images and the fake house."

"Do you think he was always going to frame Wyatt?" Fin asked, looking from Munch to Elliot and back.

"I think he seized the opportunity after what happened in the alley," Munch replied. "A dead suspect would be the easiest to frame. And let's not forget he was the one to shoot him."

"Yeah, he was," Elliot agreed distractedly, the scene in the alley replaying in his head. He remembered how Downey had been nervous, trembling, and how he had been convinced beyond a doubt that he had acted to protect Olivia. Clearly, he was just saving her for himself.

"What about the forged evidence?" Cragen asked. "Were you able to piece together where the images and the house came from yet?"

"The still image was taken from a surveillance video, but it's from the wrong street; the original video is from a camera near Wyatt's work, so of course he would be in the images," Munch explained. "Downey gave us a forged picture and we just bought it without questioning it, we just assumed it was part of the evidence from Anna's murder like he told us."

"And the house...?" Elliot reminded him.

"Does belong to Wyatt's mother, but it's been empty for years. He planted the pictures on the wall, the weapons and the journals, he must have."

"To frame Wyatt, lay his crimes on him, since he was already dead anyway," Elliot said, trying to move the discussion along.

"I don't know, this just doesn't make any sense," Fin said, shaking his head. "Why kill in his jurisdiction? Investigate his own case? That's insane."

"It's not uncommon for serial killers to insert themselves in the investigation," said Huang, who had been quiet all along, arms crossed with a hand straying to pinch his chin in what looked like deep thought. "Investigating his own case gives him a sense of control over it. He tampers with evidence, logs lies in the case files, he controls all the information. He enjoys knowing something nobody else does, he feels like the smartest person in the room."

"But if he's so smart, why did he kill someone in the city?" Fin challenged, still looking unconvinced. "He had to know we would find something at some point if we got the case. Why not keep it in Brooklyn, where he had control over everything?"

"Olivia!" Elliot raised his voice, impatient; that was the obvious part, why hadn't they understood that yet? "He came here with an agenda. He was drugging her from day one, for Christ's sakes."

"By the way," Munch said, nodding at Elliot. "Melinda called while you were out and said the substance in the coffee was amphetamine sulphate, a.k.a. speed."

"Isn't that supposed to make you feel more focused and alert?" Fin asked. "At least that's what I remember about it from my time in Narcotics. Why would he drug her with something that would make her more alert and risk her figuring out his game?"

"Because the extended use of amphetamines also causes paranoia, which would make her doubt herself and the people around her," Huang explained. "Even if she had any suspicions, she wouldn't trust them, and if she told anyone, she would sound paranoid. The drug also affects appetite and sleep, which would also strain her physically and emotionally."

"She did mention she wasn't sleeping well," Fin agreed, looking away as he still seemed to be struggling to put the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind.

"And she told me she was feeling paranoid about people judging her and her involvement with the case," Huang added, then shook his head, his eyebrows knit in an uncharacteristically concerned expression, a break from his usual stoic attitude. "I didn't think anything of it back then, I thought she was just emotionally stressed."

"Yes, that's what we all thought," Cragen said appeasingly, but shaking his head too.

"He made her grow apart from all of us," Elliot said, "so we wouldn't figure out what was going on with her."

"The drug would make her feel anxious, less patient, more impulsive and reckless," Huang explained. "Every day she took it made her a little more unhinged, with a growing sense of loss of control."

It all added up, Elliot was thinking. Her anxiety attack, her paranoia about him undermining her with Cragen, her impulsiveness chasing Wyatt, getting close to Downey so quickly, her rage at him earlier that evening. He blamed himself; he'd known all along that something was wrong, but he'd let a psychopath get close to her and drive a wedge between them.

"Okay, so he targeted Olivia," Fin stated. "But here's what I don't get: why not just stalk and kidnap her, like he did with all the others? Why involve her in the investigation?"

That got Elliot thinking for a moment; his stare met Huang's for a moment, before returning to Fin's. "It's like the doc said. This isn't just about torturing and killing; this is about breaking her spirit." He swallowed hard. "He wanted to destroy her life from within."

Fin held Elliot's stare for a few seconds as he processed the information, his brow furrowed. "Son of a bitch," he eventually muttered, resigned.

"So that's it, he targeted Olivia from the beginning," Cragen said, walking around in circles with his hands in his pockets. "Did they know each other?"

"On his first day here he said he knew about her, he'd heard about her reputation or something," Elliot said. "She didn't know or at least didn't remember knowing him."

"Do you think this could be it?" Munch asked. "Maybe they met, she blew him off and she became his target?"

"That's quite possible," Huang said. "If she did that, she made him relive the rejections he'd already suffered before."

"From successful, independent women," Elliot completed.

"Yes," Huang nodded. "And his mother, there's got to be something there."

Elliot remembered that conversation between them by the coffee station, their flirting. He remembered how he'd found Downey's cheap attempts to connect with her utterly pathetic, and how it had turned his stomach to watch her smile in return.

"He told her his mother's name was also Olivia," he said, seeing it in his head.

"We need to confirm that," the captain ordered, but Elliot was no longer listening.

He was thinking about that seemingly innocent, flirtatious conversation over coffee, and how it was the perfect summary of everything that had happened and the devastating consequences: Downey's every action and every word had been thoroughly calculated, but Elliot's emotions had made him misinterpret all of them. Downey didn't even have to drug him; his feelings for Olivia and most of all his denial of them had been the perfect tool to manipulate him, render him useless. The son of a bitch had known exactly which buttons to push; it was hard to believe just how much effort the guy had put into his deception and just how much he must hate Olivia in order to do all this.

"Where did this guy come from?" he asked, raising his head again and finding Cragen's face. He walked to him, his tone accusing. "You said we could trust him."

Cragen took a deep breath. "His captain has been my friend for thirty years, and he told me Downey was his best detective, his number two."

Elliot's only reply was to shake his head, looking down. There was nothing anyone could say right now.

"Believe me, Elliot, I blame myself more than anyone," Cragen approached him, lowering his voice as he spoke. "It doesn't make me kick myself any less, but it was as if I told someone they could trust _you_. Downey was his Stabler, and I received him in my house the way I would have expected anyone to receive you."

That last remark made Elliot look up at the captain again; he wanted to blame him, lash out at him, at someone, at everyone, but the truth was he blamed himself above all. Without another word, he walked slowly back to his desk, stopping suddenly to attack a trash bin, the first kick already bending it shut, the next few ones turning it into an unrecognizable piece of plastic. The whole team watched in silence as he kicked it away and leaned on his desk with both hands, trying to calm down, feeling tears threatening to overflow from his eyes.

"I want Downey's life torn upside down," Cragen eventually broke the silence, his tone severe. "I want to know every single detail about this son of a bitch. If he's our guy, he's got to be connected to all victims, and we need to find where he takes them, that's gotta be where he took Olivia."

* * *

Making a point to be the one to break down the door, Elliot was also the first officer into Eric Downey's apartment. Cabot was going to meet him there with the warrant, but the captain had authorized him to initiate the search alongside the forensic unit. He put on a pair of latex gloves as he walked in, looking at every direction to take in as much detail as possible in as little time as he could.

The small, one-bedroom apartment looked like it had been rented recently, and it wasn't completely furnished. There was no couch in the living room; the only furniture there was a big, old-looking desk with a chair. A counter separated it from the kitchen, whose built-in, empty cupboards Elliot started opening immediately. He found no food stored anywhere, and only one plate and a few glasses, but no pots or pans. The drawers were also empty, apart from one where there were a few knives and forks.

The fridge had no food either, only a few beer bottles. Elliot opened the door to the freezer, which contained only two empty ice trays that he lifted to check, only to drop back down a second later. When he was closing the door, he noticed something behind the trays; it was a small ziplock bag containing an SD card. He smiled at his finding, placing it into an evidence bag.

"Wait, let me take a look at that first," he warned, a little louder than intended, when he saw a tech who was about to start bagging the items on the desk; he walked fast towards it. "Thank you," he said apologetically.

The mess resembled Downey's borrowed desk at the precinct, but Elliot quickly identified the first interesting item: a journal that looked like the ones found in Wyatt's fake hideout but which had obviously been kept intentionally hidden. He opened the several folders that lay there too, and while most of them were empty, some contained pictures that had been left out of Downey's wall collage. Elliot searched for pictures of Olivia, but she was the only one of the models he didn't see in them.

"Detective," a voice called from the bedroom.

"Yeah?" Elliot said, already on his way, and when he arrived, the forensic tech didn't have to explain why he'd called him over, simply leaving him alone as he stared at the wall.

This was a smaller version of the installation in the abandoned house, the main difference being that the only person in these pictures was Olivia. Her face and her name also appeared on newspaper clippings that hung next to pictures that looked like the ones Elliot had already seen, but which were accompanied by other pictures as well, pictures she'd posed for, where she was smiling; in one of them, she had her arm around her mother. Downey had to have stolen those pictures from her house, he concluded.

Elliot approached the wall, staring at a picture of Olivia in uniform; it looked like the ceremony for her promotion to detective. She looked beautiful, with a wide smile that reached her eyes; he touched her face, and though he only felt the glossy paper through the latex of his gloves, he had the distinct memory of what her skin felt like against his fingertips.

He sighed, turning around to look at the rest of the room; the bed was a mattress on the floor, and the only other furniture was a wardrobe, where suits and shirts hung from. A couple of open suitcases on the floor contained other clothes: everything in the apartment screamed temporary. Scattered next to the bed were several folders and pictures. Elliot kneeled down to look through them; to his surprise, there were more candid pictures of Olivia, dozens of them, dating from much earlier than what the pictures Downey had chosen to display suggested.

Naturally, Elliot appeared in several of the pictures with her, and as he looked at them, he tried to remember each situation and whether he had noticed anything strange, something that indicated someone was following them. Among those, a set of pictures in particular called his attention; he recognized them as having been taken that night at the bar, when Angela's body had been found.

Downey had documented everything; he and Olivia walking in with Munch and Fin, their cheerful talk over drinks, the moment the two of them had been left alone, and of course, their kiss. Elliot stared at himself kissing Olivia, his arm around her, pulling her close, and he was transported back to that moment. The last few pictures followed them back to their car, and Elliot could see his tense demeanor, the intentional distance he'd kept from her as they walked. For a moment, he became worried that those pictures would be introduced as evidence, and everyone would see them, see them kissing, but he didn't really care as long as they helped the team find her any faster.

So Downey had been there, he realized. The images from inside the bar seemed to have much lower quality, suggesting he might have used a camera phone to take the shots. Having been there then had to mean that he had dumped Angela's body and then gone straight to the vicinity of the precinct to follow Olivia. Elliot figured he must have wanted to witness the moment she got the case first hand; what he'd ended up seeing had definitely given him even more leverage to manipulate them. He went back to the pictures of the kiss, cursing his impulsivity that night and wondering in just how many more ways he'd caused her harm with that reckless whim.

He turned towards the wall again, calculating the viewing angle from the mattress, then moved to position himself on the bed, sitting, as if he were about to lie down to sleep; his eyes connected with Olivia's, her smile in the very center of the wall Downey had dedicated to her. To his right, a lamp sat on the floor, easily reachable from that position, and a quick look upwards at the empty bulb socket confirmed it was the only source of light in the bedroom at night. Elliot sat there for a moment, leaning his body backwards, his eyes fixated on the wall, and he could see it, he could see this maniac lying down, night after night, staring at Olivia before turning off the light, her face the last and the first thing he saw every single day.

* * *

It was almost midnight when Elliot walked back into the squadroom, wiped but anxious to hear what Munch and Fin had been able to figure out in his absence. Before he could get to them, however, he was intercepted by the captain.

"Elliot, you should talk to your wife first," Cragen said bluntly.

"Why?" Elliot asked hurriedly, wondering if the captain already knew anything about him and Olivia.

"Because she's here," he pointed past him towards his office. "She's waiting in there."

Elliot sighed, invaded by guilt. With Olivia's disappearance, he had completely forgotten Kathy would be waiting for him at home to talk. He looked at Cragen's office and saw her through the glass on the door, staring distractedly at some fixed point, her arms wrapped around herself. After exchanging a look with the captain, he walked towards her, the apology already forming in his lips.

"I'm really sorry, I was going to call you but…" he was already saying as he walked in and closed the door behind him.

"I'm glad you're okay," Kathy replied, not letting him finish, calmer than he would have expected, smiling slightly with what looked like true relief. "I was worried when you didn't pick up your phone and didn't go home."

"You called?" Elliot asked, surprised, tapping his pockets in search for his phone, but he gave up, looking up at her again. "I'm really sorry, I didn't see it. Olivia is missing."

Kathy's eyes widened with concern. "Missing? What happened?"

"She was kidnapped," he said, his voice breaking slightly. He focused his energy on staying still, because his body kept trying to move, the thought of doing nothing for a single minute killing him. "We're all working nonstop."

"Of course, of course," she said, nodding vehemently. "You should go back to work, then."

"What about…?" he couldn't contain the urge to ask, but couldn't put the question together either. "We still need to talk." And she had no idea how badly.

Kathy took a deep breath. "I know," she said, running her hand through her hair as she seemed to be struggling to decide on something to do or say; Elliot could see the wedding ring was gone from her hand again.

"I slept with Olivia," he blurted out, surprising her and most of all himself. "Last night, before she went missing."

Now Kathy was the one who didn't seem able to put words together; she stuttered an incomprehensible syllable as shock and confusion wrestled on her face, her body visibly frozen in place.

"I'm sorry," he said, unsure if he was apologizing for the news or the way in which he'd just delivered them. Probably both. "I guess you were right the other night. I tried to… I tried _not _to…"

"I know you did," Kathy was finally able to whisper, looking away from him and wiping the tears as they emerged, not giving them a chance to roll down.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, feeling his eyes watering as well. "I never meant to hurt you."

She took another deep breath, wiping the tears and the crying off her face as she seemed to be gathering energy to speak. "I know," she said, looking at him and forcing a smile. "Don't worry about it now, we'll talk. Now, go find her."

Without waiting for a reply, Kathy rushed past him, opened the door in a swift movement and left, never looking back.


	17. Safekeeping

14 - SAFEKEEPING

_These kinds of events were like a little license for us to pretend. It was nothing much, a fundraiser of some kind, just a dinner and some drinks, everybody a little dressed up, but not too much, just a formality, no plus ones, just the NYPD family. In this little microcosm, captains were parents, fellow officers were siblings or cousins, depending on how closely they'd already worked together, running into old colleagues was like reuniting with long-lost high school friends and, what best suited us, male-female partnerships became marriages. Everybody talked about everybody and at the same time loved and hated being together. A real family reunion._

_Apart from the family, these occasions also involved people you'd never met, which meant they were also an opportunity to meet new people, possibly new romantic interests. Drinks were sent from the bar to tables and back, the usual conversations with the "which precinct are you from?", "how many years in the force?", "who's your captain," to break the ice, the exchange of phone numbers and so on. I often received drinks sent from the bar and even the occasional note, but I usually didn't get my get-to-know-you talk – not that I cared – because the authors of notes and the senders of drinks would always get an angry look from Elliot and back off. After all, he was my partner, and in these nights, that meant more than usual. _

_I got to play my part as well, albeit less actively, because he did have a wedding band on his finger and at the same time that it seemed to attract even more female attention, it also kept them at bay, etiquette only allowing them to throw curious looks, which would cease when they met my own protective, territorial gaze. It was like I was his bodyguard, keeping his marriage safe, keeping him exclusive to Kathy – and me. The ring represented her, but I was the one here holding on to his arm and sitting next to him. His work wife. Proudly so. It was fun to pretend._

_On this particular night, both Elliot and I had noticed a guy who kept staring at me, even though we didn't talk about it; he would just throw me weird looks, and I would try to conceal my amusement at how much it bothered him. Unlike most men in these occasions, my suitor didn't seem intimidated by Elliot's non-verbal, unfriendly hints. When Elliot went to the restroom and I went to the bar to order a drink, he seemed encouraged enough to approach me. It was a bit clumsy, was my first impression, but the fact that he seemed aware of it and self-conscious about it was cute. _

"_If I'd known you wanted a drink, I would've sent one your way," he said. "A woman like you shouldn't need to walk a single step to get a drink, or anything for that matter."_

_I laughed at his silly pick-up line, and so did he. "Thanks, I don't mind getting my own drinks, or my own anything for that matter," I said, and he nodded in agreement before shaking his head._

"_Of course," he said, blushing. "I'm terrible at this. But I wouldn't have forgiven myself if I hadn't at least tried to introduce myself to you."_

_I held out my hand. "Detective Olivia Benson, from the 1-6."_

"_Thank you so much," he said sheepishly, taking my hand. "You're too polite. I'm Todd Anderson, detective at the 68th. Homicide."_

"_Special Victims Unit," I said, figuring that's where his interest might get curbed after all, or where the lighthearted atmosphere would dissipate._

"_Wow, respect," he said instead, surprising me with his relaxed tone. "I think that's got to be harder than homicide. I mean, difficult cases, hell to prosecute, dealing with traumatized victims…"_

_I liked how he didn't focus on the sexual aspect of it all. "Yes, but I really like it," I replied earnestly. "It's rewarding... Sometimes."_

_He smiled, showing the long pause hadn't been lost on him, but that he understood. "Still beats homicide, which never is," he said sympathetically._

_I nodded with a half-smile of appreciation; then, he asked what he'd been wanting to know all along._

"_That tough guy who never leaves your side, is he your boyfriend?"_

_I smiled. I liked to wonder what it'd be like to answer that question with a yes, just to pretend for a minute. Would I ever have the nerve? Not this time. "No. He's my partner."_

"_Oh, so work husband," Todd grinned. "I have one of those, too."_

_I laughed wholeheartedly this time, figuring out that it was all an act. He'd pretend to be all embarrassed and shy but, in truth, he had a great sense of humor and he knew that. Maybe he started with the bad pick-up line to lower his target's expectations just so he could show a much better side right after._

"_Oh really?" I said with my wide, truly earned smile. _

"_There he is," he said, nodding towards a tall man who was approaching us. _

"_Is this guy bothering you, miss?" the man said when he arrived, smiling. "Don't worry, I'm a police officer."_

_I laughed again. Double act? The bartender handed me my drink then._

"_This is Olivia Benson," Todd introduced me. "Olivia, this is Eric Downey."_

"_Nice to meet you," I said, shaking his hand. He smiled enigmatically, and I couldn't tell if he was interested or only playing the wingman part. That's when I saw that Elliot was standing by our table, watching, both hands in his pockets and an unreadable expression on his face. "Excuse me, gentlemen," I said, then turned to Todd and whispered. "Work hubby doesn't look happy."_

_Todd laughed. "Please, before you go, give me your phone number," he said, handing me his card. "Please. I'm begging you. I promise I will try really hard not to call you. I'll just hold onto it, put it next to my bed."_

_I grinned, grabbing the card and saying my number out loud once before walking back to our table. I looked over my shoulder and saw him writing it down on a napkin._

_Elliot said nothing, but I saw that he threw a five-second look at the two detectives at the bar before turning around and sitting next to me again. I didn't say anything either and put the card away in my purse, knowing he was watching it, feeling the heat of his stare. I never called, though. The card must have gotten lost, because I never saw it again._

* * *

Olivia's head was turned, facing the window; she didn't want Eric to notice she was crying. And she was mad at herself for it. She had never been so emotionally fragile, so unstable, so confused. She could barely tell why the tears were rolling down right now; over Elliot? Over being a complete mess? Over how the case had messed her up, left her in shreds? Over how she didn't know how to pick up the pieces of whatever was left? She felt like a plane crash, the wreckage on fire, the blackbox lost, no sign of any survivors.

And Eric didn't deserve it either. He had been affected by this case too, worked on it longer, and yet, instead of crumbling, he had found the bright side, he had found a way to connect with someone in a meaningful way, and managed to be there for her every step of the way. He had turned his weaknesses into strength, put the heartache to good use instead of bad. She used to be able to do that. Wiping her tears, she turned to look at him. Maybe she could use some of his strength; she knew he'd be willing to share it with her. So he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve it that she was crying in the car with him, wishing she were somewhere else, with someone else. She didn't deserve him.

"Do you mind if I stop for some gas?" he said casually, bringing her back to the present, her eyes landing automatically on the fuel gauge. "I like to keep the tank full, it actually improves gas mileage."

His explanation for wanting to fill the car while the needle was barely under the letter F made Olivia feel ashamed that he had noticed her looking, even though a voice in the back of her mind was asking why he needed to improve the mileage on a rental he was only going to use for a few days while his car was at the shop like he'd told her earlier.

"No problem," she said, making an effort to sound trusting and positive.

She had also noticed then that they didn't seem to be taking the usual route to her place, but now she figured he must have strayed from it to go to the gas station. She didn't want to ask any questions after he'd just caught her doubting him, and to be honest, she didn't even have the energy. The rental car thing, the different route thing and now the fuel thing were raising red flags in her mind, but she was struggling to keep them down; she couldn't deal with red flags right now. She couldn't take being paranoid anymore.

Elliot's voice would echo in her head saying he didn't trust Eric, but it only made her want to fight him, because trusting him or not, he was the one who kept pushing her away, sending her back into Eric's arms. Even in her mind, Elliot had no right to give his opinion, because she was left to fend for herself, as usual, and she just couldn't entertain the possibility that the only person who seemed to want to be there for her was actually not to be trusted. In her current state, she couldn't afford not to trust Eric.

He pulled over next to the pump and got out of the car while she stayed behind, dropping the weight of her head against the rest and closing her eyes. She couldn't wait to get home, all she wanted was to sleep. Try to, anyway.

"I'll go pay for it, be right back," Eric said, popping his head into the car through his window.

Olivia's head was suddenly killing her. Or maybe it already hurt earlier, but she had only noticed it now. She wished she had asked Eric to get her some painkillers, but going after him was out of the question; she would only be able to hoist her weight out of that car once, and she was saving it for when they got home. She rolled down her window, hoping some air would help, but it only felt worse as she was hit by the humidity from the imminent rain that already filled the air. Maybe Eric had painkillers in the car; she wasn't very hopeful given this was a rental, but a guy who had sugars in his pockets might as well have supplies of other things in his rental car's glove compartment.

And he did have several things there: receipts, pens, notepads, a chocolate bar, some keys. Definitely no painkillers. Olivia's fingers bumped into something hard, something that felt like a small, hard-covered book, a velvety lining. She pulled it out of the compartment: it was crimson red with golden letters that read _The Little Prince_. It seemed like an old edition, with pages turned yellow. She opened the book to the title page, where there was a name, written in graceful handwriting and black ink: _Olivia Downey_. Under it, in blue ink, the handwriting of a child: _Eric Downey_.

Olivia smiled as she remembered Eric mentioning his mother had her name. It was cute that he kept a book his mother had given him when he was a little boy. See? She wanted to tell Elliot, this was a sensitive, caring guy. He might not be the man she was in love with, but that didn't make him a bad man. Just because he wasn't Elliot, or just because Elliot was jealous, that didn't mean Eric wasn't a good man, thoughtful, who really cared about her. She'd let Elliot get inside her head, but the truth was he couldn't give her what Eric not only could, but was willing to give. Maybe it was time for her to stop declining it and accept it, accept the love that she deserved.

As she handled the book, she noticed that there were a few gaps between the pages, caused by items that were tucked in between them like bookmarks; she wondered if it was okay to snoop. She was suddenly so inevitably curious that she was able to even stop paying attention to the painful pounding in her head. It was probably nothing, probably just receipts, cards, mirroring the mess around the book in the glove compartment, but it occurred to her that it might also be other examples of what a good guy Eric was, and that seemed like a legitimate enough reason to look without feeling guilty.

Olivia looked in the direction of the store to see if Eric was still there and saw him through the glass doors, he seemed to be looking at items to buy, probably remembering that she wouldn't have any food at home. See? Thoughtful. It also gave her plenty of time. Even though she told herself her reasons for going through his stuff were noble, she still preferred to do it inconspicuously. She slid her finger into the first gap and opened the book, revealing a picture in which she immediately recognized Eric in formal uniform, smiling, standing next to a man that looked incredibly familiar. Anderson, said his uniform's name tag, and she realized this must be Todd, his partner who had died and who had obviously been his best friend. In the back, blue handwriting indicated the date the picture had been taken.

She rifled through more pages to find another picture, containing an even younger version of Eric, with his arms around a blond, smiling girl that Olivia knew. She felt her heart jump inside her, thinking she must be going completely out of her mind now, because she was sure she was looking at Anna Perkins, the first victim. There was nothing written on the back of this one. She considered the possibility that she might be hallucinating from her migraine, and she held onto that hope. Her mind was racing. She continued her search, no longer fueled by curiosity or a desire to know more about the great guy Eric was; she was now hoping the next clues would help her understand that picture or prove it was a figment of her imagination.

The next item only made her more confused than before, though: _Elizabeth Moore, Real Estate Agent_, read the business card wedged between the book's pages. This didn't make any sense. Why did Eric keep a souvenir of a victim inside a book that had belonged to his mother? How did he know Anna? Why hadn't he mentioned it? She was reeling. Her head pounded louder now, not painfully, but deafeningly, a persistent thrum irradiating through her whole body, all the previously ignored red flags now raised and waving. But that wasn't all, there were still a couple more items to check and, at this point, Olivia wasn't even hoping for anything good, just coherent, intelligible, something to help her make sense of what was going on.

The next item she found was a yellow paper slip, a standard NYPD form filled out with the _Fit for duty_ box checked, a signature under a name stamped in black ink: _Angela Stevens, M.D._ Olivia remembered Nicole telling her about their work with the NYPD in the past, and remembered she had requested material on that; she felt like that had happened days earlier instead of just that morning. In an impulse, she reached for her cell phone in her pocket with the intention of calling Elliot to ask if something had arrived, but she couldn't find the phone. As she moved in her seat to search, the book almost fell off her hand; she caught it in a reflex, closing it just as a napkin fell from the last gap left to look.

The air escaped Olivia's lungs when she took the napkin and saw her name on it, as well as her phone number, the memory instantly downloading into her brain and replaying before her closed eyes. That's where she knew Todd Anderson from: she had given him her phone number, he'd written it down on a napkin. His partner was with him. _Eric_. How hadn't she recognized him? It had been a long time ago, but she used to have a good memory for faces. She'd kept Todd's face in her memory, his name, that's why he had always seemed so familiar. Apparently, Eric had simply been erased, his record lost inside her mind before she could store it somewhere it could be accessed later.

"Remember now?" she heard Eric's voice saying from her window, and as she registered the feeling of goosebumps breaking across her skin, she felt the shooting pain of something hard and dull striking the side of her head, a moment before consciousness faded away.

* * *

It had all been a crazy dream, not at all a novelty in her recent history: any sleep Olivia ever got these days was filled with crazy dreams. Her mind was still working out everything that had happened during the case, the victims, Eric, his dead partner. It was only natural it should work it out by mixing it all up in a crazy plot that lived in the realm of imagination. She was relieved when she opened her eyes, because this had been the craziest among her latest dreams.

"Eric," she mumbled, her eyes burning as they were hit by a blinking white light. Her head hurt. "Eric, where are you?"

There was no answer. Olivia opened her eyes again, realizing she was in a strange place. She was able to slowly sit up, but waves of pain radiating from her head made her dizzy. As soon as she felt steady enough, she took a look around. The concrete walls seemed to be of a shade of dark grey under all the mold that covered them almost completely. There was no furniture, except for the thin, dirty mattress she was sitting on and through which she could feel the coldness of the unsealed concrete floor. There was a bucket in the corner of the room, she couldn't tell if it was filled with anything.

Olivia noticed that the wall facing her was a bit different in color and aspect; it seemed to be of a different material than the other ones. It also seemed less affected by the mold; it was probably a newer wall, put up more recently. In the middle of it, there was a glass, possibly a mirror, it was hard to tell. Maybe it was a window? There weren't any other windows. In the upper right corner of the same wall, there was something that looked like a small speaker. She looked up at the light again: a weak, flickering fluorescent tube with blackened ends that barely illuminated the overall greyish surroundings. What the hell was this place? Why was she here? Where was Eric?

"Hello?" she called out, trying to get up, but finding out her legs felt weak. "Eric? Are you there?"

Nothing, just the buzzing and blinking of the light above. There was a door, a quite heavy-looking one. Olivia made a new attempt to stand up, this time leaning on the wall for support, and made her way towards it to confirm that it was locked. She tried to force it a few times, but nothing happened.

So she had been kidnapped, it was the only explanation. She was being kept in a dark, locked room, all alone, probably being observed from behind that glass, which she could now confirm was a mirror – a window only for whoever was outside looking in. She tried really hard to remember something, they must have been attacked, maybe someone hit their car or intercepted it at the parking garage. They must have done something to Eric in order to take her, unless he had also been taken. Maybe he was also being kept there, in a room like this one.

But who would kidnap her? And why? She remembered her face on the wall of Wyatt's house, the photos he had taken when he was stalking her. Unless Wyatt hadn't been the one to take them… Maybe Wyatt wasn't the guy after all, and the real killer decided to show how wrong they had been by taking her right from under their roof.

Olivia thought about that crazy dream again. They were at a gas station. She had found something, a book hiding souvenirs. It contained a photo of younger versions of Eric and Anna, memories related to the other victims, and a napkin with her own phone number. In the glove compartment of Eric's rental car. A crazy dream. Right? What else could it be? Maybe she had been so obsessed trying to find a connection between the victims that she had dreamed one up: Eric as the connection. A surreal dream.

The door opened suddenly, and Olivia saw Eric walking in. When their eyes met, he smiled. She didn't know what was happening. What was he doing there, walking freely, if he hadn't been subdued and left behind or taken hostage as well? It didn't make any sense. It could only be another part of that crazy dream: maybe she hadn't woken up at all.

"Sorry, you must be confused," he said, calm. Cold. "We're clearly not at your apartment: we're somewhere else. I figured we could go away for a few days. The case is closed, why not get some rest, clear our minds?"

"Eric, what's going on?" Olivia asked, her hands shaking involuntarily. "Where are we?"

"Don't worry, the speed will wear off soon. Your mind will be clearer then. I want you fully conscious now. But of course, you'll go through a bit of withdrawal first."

The pounding in her head was too persistent and too painful to be a dream. She really didn't want to believe this was real, but she didn't know Eric well enough to dream of him with such a completely different expression on his face, such a weird tone to his voice. None of it was a dream. She remembered the napkin with her name on it again.

"Eric…" she mumbled, overwhelmed.

"It will all make sense, I promise," he smiled, but combined to that foreign expression, it looked like a sinister grimace.

* * *

So she had been drugged. That explained it. At least that was comforting; even though everything was going to hell around her, at least Olivia was getting her mind back. It wasn't a small thing. It was good not to feel like she was going crazy when things were the craziest around her. It all made sense now: Eric was the killer. He was the connection between the victims. She couldn't get that image of him and Anna out of her head, they looked so happy.

As he had promised, her mind became clearer as she went through the withdrawal symptoms. She quickly understood why there was a bucket in the room, she crawled to it and sat with it for a long time, throwing up. Her head hurt, it was like someone was hitting her forehead with a hammer. And yet, as she experienced all of it, her mind came gradually closer to understanding everything that had happened. She couldn't tell how long that lasted, but Eric didn't show up for any of it. She screamed for water a few times, her throat so dry it actually hurt. But he didn't come.

She remembered his book of memories, his tokens for each victim inside his mother's book. His picture with Anna: that one was pretty obvious, they had known each other in the past, probably dated. Elizabeth Moore's business card was a mystery, but she must have wronged him somehow. Maybe he had dated her too? Angela had been his therapist after his partner's death. And his partner; Todd Anderson was Eric's link to her, the napkin he had written her phone number down on.

The memory was clear now, the night when she had met both detectives. They were both nice, funny and good looking, but Olivia had forgotten all about them as she enjoyed watching Elliot's jealousy, Todd's card lost and forgotten. He had tried calling a couple of times, but she'd never called him back. That must be it; Eric was offended on behalf of his best friend. He held a grudge, fed a hatred for her, the detective that thought she was too good for them. The strong, independent woman who didn't need men, who didn't want them.

Eyes trained on the door, Olivia was leaning against the wall, sat on the mattress. Waiting for him. Without any windows to keep track of day and night, and with the fuzziness of her memories from the beginning of her captivity and the withdrawal, she had no idea how long she had been there. He would come back eventually, all she needed was to watch the door. She drifted off a few times, maybe for minutes, maybe for hours, but her eyes were still on the door: as soon as it opened, she saw it.

"How are you feeling?" Eric asked, and for that split second he had sounded like the Eric she'd thought she knew.

"A bit better," she said weakly, her voice hoarse and dry. She tried not to react effusively at the sight of a water bottle in his hand.

"Good," he said, closing the door.

"How did you know Anna?" she asked softly. "I was lying here thinking about it, wondering. Was she your girlfriend?"

"What makes you think I would tell you about it?" he asked; his tone wasn't aggressive at all, which actually made it scary. He approached her and gave her the water.

"Because you're a detective, and so am I. You know what it's like; I want to understand it. Is that how it all started?"

He chuckled. "What makes you think there even_ is _a story?"

Olivia opened the water in a hurry and downed a third of it in large sips.

"Don't drink it all at once," he said. "You'll get sick because of the dehydration. You need to drink slowly."

She nodded, taking a deep breath of relief as she felt the water invading her arid interior while she tried to decide if it was ironic or pathetic that her kidnapper was worried she would get sick from drinking water too quickly.

"There's always a story," she said, trying to keep her tone casual. She didn't want to be hostile, she just wanted to test his buttons, watch his reactions. "You know that as well as I do. Or maybe it all started with Olivia. Your mother."

"So Freudian," he grinned, looking impartial. "You want to talk? Let's talk." He sat down on the floor in front of her.

Olivia sat up straight to face him. "Tell me about her," she asked, genuinely curious. "What was she like?"

He didn't frown, but didn't smile either. "We're not here to talk about her," he said, that cold, detached tone.

"Of course we are," she smiled. "One of the first things you ever said to me was she had my name. You want to tell me things."

He smiled back. "Don't forget I'm a trained interrogator too. I know what you're trying to do."

"Humor me. Tell me anyway." She widened her smile.

Eric shifted in place, like he was looking for a comfortable position, even though he didn't let any discomfort show through his expression. "Tell you what. Why don't we do this _quid pro quo_? You tell me what I want to know, and I'll tell you what you want to know."

"Sounds fair," she agreed.

"It's a courtesy none of the others had. You should feel special."

Olivia deflected from the creepiness in his warning by focusing on striking back. "Not even Anna?"

His smile faded and his eyes darkened; that told her she should tread carefully when bringing up Anna; she was also glad to have earned her first uncalculated reaction.

"Didn't you want to hear about my mother?" he said, controlled.

"I want to hear about them all."

"It's a long story," he smiled again.

"I've got time," she smiled back. "Doesn't look like I'm going anywhere anytime soon."

Eric chuckled. "It's just our weekend away. A huge step in our relationship."

Olivia felt her stomach turning with disgust to think there was ever something resembling a relationship between them, that she'd gone to bed with him, but she smiled. "So is telling each other the whole truth. I want to know everything there is to know about you."

"Me first," he commanded. "Tell me about your parents."

Olivia tilted her head questioningly. "You know all about that; you researched me, stalked me."

"I want to hear it in your words." There was genuine satisfaction in his smile.

"Well… My father raped my mother," she said, trying to sound cold and detached herself. "A few weeks later she realized she was pregnant, and she decided to keep the baby. But she only told me about it when I got older, and when she did, a lot of things made sense."

"Like why she intrinsically hated you, no matter how much she wanted to love you," he said matter-of-factly.

She ignored him. "Like why she had become an alcoholic."

"It made you feel undeserving. A baby hated by its own mother… How can it grow up to believe it deserves to be loved?"

Olivia scoffed involuntarily, remembering Huang describing the exact thing he was doing right now, hoping it made her a little less vulnerable to the attack. "Things aren't that simple," she said. "She hated herself the most, and it was a terrible thing to witness. To watch her consuming herself like that."

"Made you want to be anything but that, anything but vulnerable to anything. Made you intrinsically afraid of men, afraid someone would hurt you like your mother had been hurt. Made you keep your distance, never let yourself really fall for someone."

"I never thought about it like that," Olivia shrugged. "It's a good analysis."

"Do you really believe your own lie? Do you really believe you can keep that distance, look at it from outside? You act like you've sorted it all out, but the truth is you only swept it under the rug, shoved it into a box. When someone opens it…" Eric smiled, and Olivia hated it, but it made her shiver.

"Okay, my turn now," she said, already recovered, now shifting in place herself. "Tell me about Olivia."

Eric sighed. "There's not much to tell. She didn't hate me like your mother hated you, it was more like she didn't care enough to hate me. It bothered me for a long time."

"Not anymore?" she asked softly, trying not to sound like an interrogator.

"She's dead now, and I don't hold a grudge. She walked away from my father and never looked back, taking me with her was never an option. Don't you think it's amazing how everyone has a problem with their mother or father? Or both, like you? I mean, everyone. I think that if it weren't for that, people wouldn't have personalities."

"It's a cycle," she smiled. "They grow up to be parents and damage their own children, and they will be damaged too, and in turn damage their own children."

"Is that why you're not a mother?" he asked softly.

Olivia caught her breath for a moment, taken by surprise; again, she didn't have an answer. He seemed to like that.

"It's really a shame, you'd be a great mother. It's a shame you never found anybody you wanted to have children with. Well, maybe you did, but maybe he already had children. Maybe even five of them."

Of course that's where he was going with this. She wasn't even surprised; and yet, it still hurt. He was right: he had complete control here.

"He makes it look so easy, doesn't he?" Eric got on his knees to crawl closer to her. "Kind of makes you wonder why something so simple never happened to you."

Olivia blinked out a tear and let it roll all the way down to her chin. There was no point in trying to hide it, he would keep trying to break her. She might as well give him what he wanted sooner rather than later. He smiled widely.

"I think that's enough for now," he said, standing up. "Drink your water. Slowly."

"Where are you going?" she asked, the idea of being left all alone again making her suddenly anxious, but he didn't reply, he didn't even look back. He just closed the door again, and Olivia didn't know if she was more scared that he'd be back soon or gone for hours.


	18. Mental Pictures

18 - MENTAL PICTURES

_It was all over his body language: he wanted her. If he had his way, they would be out of there, he would be ripping her clothes off somewhere else. But unlike all the other times he had let those sinful thoughts transpire (I'm sure there were many instances I didn't witness), this time he gave in to it. He just leaned in and kissed her. _

_So Stabler has blood in his veins after all. Ten years, that's impressive restraint. It was such a shame for him that someone had dumped Angela Stevens' mutilated, lifeless body not too far away from that bar, otherwise this could have gone a lot further, even though he did stop himself and apologize. Who's to say he would have been able to contain himself any longer if not for the incoming call? _

_Unfortunately, I wasn't able to take a picture of the mortified look on his face as they left. It almost made the seething anger I'd felt watching him put his filthy paws on her worth it._

* * *

"Captain, do you have a minute?" Elliot stood by the doorframe, putting in great effort to remain still, waiting for Cragen's permission.

"What is it, detective?" the captain replied, stopping himself halfway between sitting down and standing up, his expression quite unreadable when Elliot scanned it for any signs that he'd been expecting this conversation.

"I need to talk to you about something," he said in a swift movement that started with closing the door and culminated in the dropping of a folder on the desk. "I wanted you to hear it from me."

The captain's eyes darted from him to the folder and back as he slowly sat back down. "Hear what?" Maybe he hadn't been expecting it at all.

"Open it, you'll understand," Elliot urged, tortured.

Cragen swallowed visibly, opening the folder in silence and in no rush, as though trying to delay the moment he would have to face whatever bad news lay before him, while Elliot tried to control the erratic beating of his heart. The captain started sifting through the pictures, and Elliot saw the moment he identified exactly the ones he was talking about. Even though the team had already gone through the evidence found in Eric Downey's apartment, the specific pictures Elliot was now sharing with the captain hadn't been shown or mentioned in the squadroom at all, which might mean that nobody in the team had seen them or that everybody had.

Either way, Elliot figured he'd set the record straight with his boss sooner rather than later, so when the captain escaped momentarily to his office to take a phone call about the court order he'd requested from Cabot allowing them to obtain Downey's phone records, he followed him, walking in the minute the phone hit the receiver. He waited now as Cragen contemplated the pictures of him kissing Olivia, watching it as he processed the information. After a long pause, the captain spoke, not letting any emotions show.

"I assume Downey took these," he said simply, staring at Elliot with an inquisitive expression.

"Yeah," Elliot confirmed. "On the night we got the case, just before we got the call."

Cragen nodded, then looked down again; his hand was frozen, holding the photo that came before the ones in question as if he was ready to use it to hide the offending images if necessary. After staring at the picture for a few more seconds, he looked up, knitting his eyebrows.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, his voice controlled.

"It hasn't," Elliot rasped in a definitive tone. "Nothing was going on before that night."

Cragen exhaled loudly, scrutinizing him, probably in search for signs that confirmed or disproved his statement. Elliot crossed his arms, watching every muscle on his face; after what felt like an excruciatingly long time, the captain put all the pictures back in the folder, closed it and tossed it on the desk dismissively.

"Why are you showing this to me now? Because it's going to go on the record that you two are involved or because you think this is somehow relevant to find Olivia?"

Elliot considered it for a moment, surprised by the question. "Both," he eventually replied, nodding towards the folder. "Downey knew, he used it. He used it against us."

Cragen frowned with a hint of disbelief. "How?"

Elliot cleared his throat, shifting in place to try and alleviate his discomfort. "I always knew there was something wrong," he started. "I knew they were getting close too fast, that she was too quick to trust him. But I thought I was…" he looked down, searching for a word, but Cragen found it first.

"Jealous?" he suggested.

Elliot looked away, guilt washing over him, then his eyes found the captain's again. "This is on me," he said, stressing every word and nodding at the folder once again. "She didn't do anything. I crossed the line and that drove her away. Add the amphetamines on top of it and she's an easy prey for him."

"And you can't tell if you suspect the guy because you're really seeing something wrong or because you hate his guts," Cragen filled in the blanks.

Elliot nodded. "I should've come forward," he admitted. "I came in here and told you Liv wasn't objective about this case, but neither was I. I'm sorry."

Cragen nodded, looking away, and it was instantly clear that this was all the acknowledgement Elliot was going to get for his confessions and apologies. "Just find her."

Night was already falling again as he walked out of the captain's office, pinching his nose and heading straight for the coffee maker. Walking past their desks, Elliot noticed that Munch and Fin did a poor job of pretending they weren't watching him, certainly curious about his conversation with Cragen. He didn't care. If they hadn't seen the pictures yet, it was just a matter of time. The captain would most likely be forced to take action and split him and Olivia up now that he knew officially that their relationship had crossed the line towards personal. It sounded ridiculous, like their relationship had ever at any given moment not been personal. He knew he might be forced to leave the unit, but with Olivia missing, he couldn't care less about the consequences to his job.

After pouring himself another generous cup of coffee, he went back to his desk and immediately resumed his reading, struggling to keep his eyes open. He was the only one who hadn't had any sleep yet since Olivia's disappearance, not even for a couple of hours. He knew sleeping would have helped him function and stay more alert, but he also knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep knowing that she was somewhere being tortured by Downey; she'd been missing for over twenty-four hours now, and he couldn't bear the thought of a single minute wasted.

Instead of resting, he'd spent the whole previous night in the squadroom reading and carefully studying all journal entries he could get his eyes on; the journals Downey had originally planted to frame Wyatt only contained the log of his victim's movements, but the ones hidden in his apartment actually contained countless personal testimonies. Huang was reading the journals as well, as they provided much insight into who Downey was and how he functioned; as disgusting as that sounded, Elliot knew they had to get inside this sick bastard's head, understand how his mind worked. That could be the key to finding Olivia and, when they did, to saving her life.

_I know her face by heart. It's like I know her face so well that I have all the information safely stored in my head; the blueprints, the disposition of every trace, the underlying structure, each olive-colored epidermal cell on top of it, every scripted muscle movement behind every smile, every frown, every blink of her eyes. And yet, every time I see her it feels a little bit like I'm seeing her for the first time, there's something about her beauty that always strikes me as all-new, as never seen before. I wonder if it's possible for the sight of her to ever become so familiar that I would no longer have that feeling._

_I saw her today coming out from the morgue with her partner. I wonder if she's become that familiar to him, familiar in such a way that looking at her feels trivial, if it's lost that novelty feeling, if he takes her sight for granted. I wonder if he's forgotten how privileged he is to have such unlimited access to her instead of having to steal glances here and there, fake accidental arm bumps to try and elicit a quick acknowledging look, a polite apology, a rushed hello irrevocably attached to a goodbye. _

Elliot was working on copies of the entries, scribbling around Downey's handwriting and highlighting the most relevant passages, which included the ones that provided the most actionable information as well as the ones that conveyed the best insight into his sick mind. All of the victims were contemplated in the testimonies, including Olivia. She was actually the one who had the most entries exclusively dedicated to her. As disgusted as everything he was reading made him feel, he was able to keep those emotional reactions at bay for the benefit of the work he needed to do. After a while, he was able to somewhat detach himself, using his entire brain function to analyze the texts and all the meanings they entailed.

That whole day had been dedicated to restarting the investigation from scratch, in attempts to explain how Downey connected the three victims, where Olivia fit in the middle of it all and, most importantly, how all this information could help them figure out where he'd taken her. In order to do so, they had analyzed the evidence collected from his apartment, interviewed several people that had worked with him in the force and re-interviewed witnesses – some were interviewed for the first time, since Downey hadn't actually talked to them and instead fabricated their statements. Elliot and Huang also added facts and details gathered from the journal entries.

Cragen had reached out to his friend, Downey's captain, who had helped him review Downey's history with the NYPD, exemplary by all accounts. Ever since the academy, he had been top of his class and, from his rookie days, had shown promise as an investigator. He had ascended quickly to lead detective in Major Crimes due to his impressive talent as a profiler – which Elliot figured was due to the fact that he was a psycho himself and therefore needed not get inside perps' heads; he lived in one.

Equipped with all of those pieces of the puzzle, the squad had been able to put together what looked like a very accurate timeline of the murders and how they fit Downey's life, including how and when he'd met each victim before the crimes. The first thing that became clear, especially after interviewing Anna Perkins' friends and family members, was that she had been his girlfriend in college, and that she had broken his heart.

Two years into the relationship, when he had decided to propose to her, she had left him and moved to Paris, making him relive the abandonment from when his mother had left him and his father when he was barely older than six. He had never heard from her again, not even when his father had died while he was still in college.

"He was in love, and he thought Anna loved him too," Huang had stated when he'd drawn a parallel between the experiences. "Even though he'd been let down by his mother, he believed and hoped that maybe things could be different for him. This told him that women definitely could and should not be trusted. By leaving him, Anna confirmed his worst fears, and he could never trust a woman again."

"My heart bleeds," was Munch's snide comment at the description.

But the doc had a point, Elliot thought. Everything indicated that, after Anna, Downey had never had another serious relationship. In fact, he didn't seem to have close relationships with anyone, not even friendships, his partner the only exception. The people who were able to shed some light on his relationship with Anna and his life at the time were her family and friends, as the team wasn't able to find anyone else who knew him back then.

Conversely, traumatic as the experience had undoubtedly been, there was nothing to suggest any violent behavior from Downey right after the breakup. Apparently, the disappointment had only affected his ability to trust women, probably even at work as, coincidence or not, he had only had male partners ever since the beginning of his career in the force. Not even perps seemed to fall prey to any outbursts, since there was nothing in his record to indicate any inappropriate behavior whatsoever. His file seemed almost too perfect even for an exemplary cop.

The next traumatic event in Eric Downey's life had clearly been the death of his partner, Todd Anderson, shot and killed in the line of duty. According to their captain, Cragen explained, they had a very close friendship and worked really well together. In his analysis, Huang concluded that Todd Anderson had been the only person after Downey's father that he had ever been able to trust and depend on: while the women in his life had let him down, he'd had those two men who had always been there for him, but who had died suddenly and unfairly.

Losing Todd wasn't something Downey had prepared for, and the shock and pain of this loss had probably been a key element to his later change in behavior. In addition, that event had also put him off duty for a while; work and Anderson used to be the most dependable things in his life, and both had been ripped away from him in a heartbeat. He was put on administrative leave and subjected to mandatory counseling. Maybe therapy might have helped him if he hadn't been assigned to Angela Stevens, a woman that instantly reminded him of his mother and Anna.

In his mind, all three of them were beautiful, independent women who didn't want their lives ruled by men or even associated with them. In Huang's opinion, that had been when the profile had first formed clearly in his mind; revisiting his life, his traumas, and being led down that path by a woman in whom he projected the ones who had let him down before had certainly shifted something in his mind and contributed to turn his disappointment and distrust into some violent form of misogyny.

"He probably judged it unfair that his partner, who was such a good person, had to die like that, when so many bad people, people who lied, deceived, disappointed, got to go on living," Huang had explained. "I believe this event helped polarize it even further in his mind, this idea that men are good and women are evil."

Most of the insight into that specific part of the timeline was leveraged from the journal entries, which Downey had started a while after Todd's death, ironically at Angela's suggestion in the beginning of their counseling sessions, as well as her notes about their conversations and even a few recordings, allowing Huang and Elliot to compare both points of view. In her notes, Angela described how he seemed unwilling to reveal his innermost thoughts and feelings, which is why she had decided to propose the writing exercise. She had asked him to bring the journals and show her he'd written on them, but assured him she would never ask to read them. She believed that writing freely might help the issues he kept so well hidden come to the surface when they spoke.

While, in his entries, Downey showed impatience with the arrangement, at times mentioning how he thought Stevens was incompetent, how he used to trick her, lie to her and play mind games as the trained detective and interrogator that he was, Angela's notes described how she saw through his manipulation and lies, dissecting them to get to the underlying truths; she had soon been able to establish the connection between his mother and his college girlfriend, Anna, and to notice how he seemed to direct those negative feelings toward her as well, identifying her as a token through which he might vent some of his frustration at never having been able to express to them how much they'd hurt him.

The sessions were mainly a power play for Downey as he refused to have his head "shrunk", defending from it by fueling a hatred towards Angela, seeing her as the impersonation of everything he hated about women. She played with that, pretending to be falling for his games to see how far he would go, especially when he pretended to be making progress in therapy in order to pressure her into discharging him and to get closer to her, developing somewhat of a personal relationship, which he seemed to find unexpectedly amusing; he was surprised that something he had started as a means to protect himself from her scrutiny and eventually get out of therapy had become such a pet project for him.

When Downey had pushed for physical contact, Angela decided that's where she'd draw the line. By then, she had realized she was inadvertently developing conflicting feelings for him, despite knowing he was just playing games, while he rejoiced in watching his manipulation at work, her becoming personally involved, the crisis of consciousness and ethics he was putting her through. One night, out of the blue, he had risked kissing her; while she had kissed him back, she never let it go any further, and felt obligated to terminate their professional connection. She cleared him for duty, fearing if she didn't he might pursue her somehow, making a strong recommendation for continued counseling with a different professional, and, soon after, she ended her partnership with the police department.

According to Huang, her refusal of his advances and the way she'd cut ties between them had made Downey furious, because she'd taken control away from him once again. From the beginning, in his mind, everything between them had been orchestrated by him, and he was going to be the one to blow her off once she was no longer of use to him. Even though he didn't specifically describe that in his entries, Huang was certain that her rejection had made him feel completely demoralized and emasculated.

Elliot had highlighted a journal entry describing how running into Olivia one day had actually helped him deal with Angela's turndown, though; it was the first entry about her.

_I'll never forget the look of pity she gave me, apologizing, telling me I had misunderstood things, the effort she made to let me down easy, the calculated, meticulous care she put into her words, as if she was afraid I couldn't take it, couldn't survive it. Please. It made me want to tell her about how she ate every lie I told her, how I enjoyed myself watching her squirm. Pathetic little bitch._

_Like a sign though, a few days later, when I got back to work, I saw Olivia. I went to 1PP to file my discharge slip with Internal Affairs and, like the answer to my questions, there she was, even more beautiful than I remembered. As she walked past me in the lobby on her way out, her eyes met mine for a moment, with the look of someone who finds you familiar, but can't figure out where they know you from. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly upwards in a hint of a smile, the kind you throw, just in case, at someone you're not sure knows you or not. _

_Like magic, Angela was completely gone, erased from my thoughts. Good riddance._

There had been no entries logged for a while after that one; Huang figured maybe Downey had given up on writing after he was discharged from counseling, but a while later, when something worth going on the record happened, the entries restarted, introducing a new character: real estate agent Elizabeth Moore.

Those entries were actually very cryptic, with no description of how he'd met her; the only thing he mentioned was that she had been showing him rental beach houses. Although not stated literally, it was clear that, during those interactions, Downey had realized that Elizabeth seemed to fit the same profile under which he'd catalogued his mother, Anna and Angela – _and Olivia?_ –, and developed an obsession with her as well.

There was nothing in the journal entries to explain why he was looking for a beach house or confirm whether he had found and rented one or not; his writing focused on Elizabeth only, describing how, after a while, they had become sexually involved, with details about how he had manipulated her into it. Downey had made a point to be the one to break up, but when he did, Elizabeth was distant.

"She was already losing interest," Huang had commented when he and Elliot were describing to the rest of the squad the chronological information they'd gathered from the journals. "Breaking up was his last attempt to regain control; he thought being rejected would make her become invested in the affair again, but as she's not mentioned after that, I think it's safe to assume she just moved on, making it into his blacklist."

Huang believed that these relationships Downey had developed or tried to with the victims were his attempts to "fix" those experiences in which he'd felt wronged. He would choose women who resonated with the characters in those past events and try to recreate the situations – mainly his father's relationship with his mother and his own relationship with Anna. The difference was that, this time, he wanted to be in control.

"He gets off on this feeling that he's manipulating them, that he's pulling the strings, that nothing will happen outside of what he wants to happen," Huang had explained further.

"So far, he was satisfied with just trying to be a serial womanizer," Munch commented, a question already foreshadowed in his statement. "How does he take the leap to serial killer?"

"Maybe the fact that all of his attempts at retaining control in those relationships failed," Huang answered. "In his arrogance, he thought that not having feelings for these women gave him the power, but there's just no controlling relationships, feelings or no feelings." Huang paused, and Elliot noticed he gave him a lingering look before continuing. "People can't be controlled like that."

"Dead bodies can," he added grimly.

_She didn't seem very upset when I told her we should stop seeing each other, but that could be her defense mechanism; she doesn't want to admit her feelings, she doesn't want to show me she's vulnerable like that – especially when she's facing rejection. These women would rather be alone for the rest of their lives rather than chase after someone and admit they have feelings. Instead, they hold on to their careers like trophies, their excuse to the world. They're lonely, but accomplished. Good for them._

Even though Elizabeth was the victim Downey had written less about and whose "story" he had described in less detail, Elliot's gut was telling him this was somehow the key to crack the case and find Olivia. He made the connection between Downey's beach house hunting and something Munch had told him the night before – had it been just the night before? It seemed like so much longer ago.

That piece of information, which back then hadn't seem at all promising, had gotten lost when, minutes later, they had both realized Downey had drugged Olivia and forged evidence, but Munch had told him that someone at the real estate agency where Elizabeth used to work had told him and Fin that there had been a problem with a beach house she hadn't been able to sell to a man, who in turn had held her responsible and filed a complaint against her with the agency. Elliot barely remembered to get everything he needed before he was hurtling towards the elevator after making that connection, rushing Munch to follow him.

Contrary to his expectations, though, their hunt wasn't fruitful. They showed Downey's picture around the real estate agency, but no one recognized him. There was also no record of Elizabeth taking a client to see beach houses in the timeframe Downey had described, and the agency only worked with sales, not with rentals; her former boss told the detectives that she must have been freelancing. Their last attempt was to get the name of the man who'd held a grudge against Elizabeth for that beach house deal gone wrong and visit him, but he didn't seem to have any connection with Downey, didn't recognize his picture and had already settled for a different property from another agency.

Once they got back to the precinct, Elliot was so upset that he went straight to the locker room, leaving Munch imbued with the task of filling everyone in on all of that nothing they'd been able to accomplish. He got into a fist fight with his locker and, when his knuckles started bleeding, he stripped naked and got into the shower to try and clear his head. When he walked back towards his locker, Huang was there. He was immediately annoyed; he didn't want to talk to anyone right now, especially about feelings. He'd just addressed his feelings, clearly manifested in the dents with the shape of his fists on the metal of his locker's door, at which the doc stared, arms crossed.

"You got something?" Elliot barked, already aware whatever the doc had to say was not related to the case.

"I wanted to check on you," Huang replied cautiously. "I'm sorry the beach house lead didn't pan out."

Elliot shook his head. "I don't know," he muttered. "I still think there's something to it. We're looking for a location, the place where he takes his victims, and then we read about how he was searching for a beach house? It's too much of a coincidence."

"We've been checking, his name is not connected to any properties."

"Did you check rental houses? His mother's name, his father's name? Maybe someone related to his partner? Of course he wouldn't allow his name to be linked to the place if he doesn't want it found."

"I'm sure the guys are checking, but we can ask when we go back there," Huang said sternly, arms still crossed, looking at him as he seemed to be preparing the question he actually wanted to ask. "Are you all right?"

"No," Elliot replied quickly. "Of course not."

Huang sat down on the bench with his back turned to Elliot, which he interpreted as the doc's attempt at offering him some privacy to get dressed.

"You can't blame yourself," Huang started soothingly. "Downey fooled all of us."

"But _I _should have known better," Elliot retorted restlessly.

"Why?" Huang risked a look towards him.

Because he was supposed to know Olivia better than anyone? Because he should have noticed something wasn't right, listened to his instincts, done something about it? Why were they even talking about this?

"Why don't we just go back to the journals while they look for the beach house?" he settled on suggesting, already fully clothed, trying his best not to sound too harsh.

Whether his attempt had been successful or not, Huang clearly got the message. "Sure," he said, starting to lead the way out of the locker room.

All attempts at connecting Downey to a beach house for the rest of the day failed, but at least by nightfall they had the timeline pretty much all figured out. From Cragen's investigation into Downey's history in the department, they were able to gather that it was around the time things ended with Elizabeth that his captain had made a few attempts to pair him up with new partners, which he refused and, manipulating as always, he'd eventually made the captain give up on the idea, at least temporarily, saying he would give him "some time". Downey seemed to enjoy working alone. After several entries without any reference to Olivia, he wrote on one that she would be the only partner he would ever accept to have after Todd – but he never explained why, distrustful as he was of women.

Even though boxes of pictures, books and other personal effects belonging to his mother had been found in his apartment, the first time Downey mentioned her in the journals was when he wrote about her funeral: he described how he didn't know anybody there, how those crying strangers had thrown him inquisitive looks, wondering who the hell he was, and how he'd preferred to stay back, away from anyone who might seek contact. The truth was that all those people he'd never seen before looked like they had a much closer relationship with Olivia Downey than him.

When he was about to leave, he'd felt a warm hand on his shoulder and heard a familiar voice; it was Anna Perkins, telling him how sorry she was for his loss and giving him a long, warm hug. Downey wrote about how that effort to comfort him should be some kind of guilt she might have been carrying after abandoning him and his marriage proposal less than a year after he'd lost his father. She had learned about his mother's death the same way as him: from the newspaper's obituary page. To Downey's surprise, what had started as an act of kindness ended up making them reconnect.

The return of Anna was ambiguous, bringing back feelings Downey had buried long before, but he wasn't willing to trust her easily. The time they spent together was thoroughly described in the journals, from the initial innocent coffees together to subsequent afternoons spent in bed, their romance reignited. In the entries, however, every action or word from Anna was distrustfully scrutinized. An enraged entry confirmed he was right not to trust her; while she had failed to make any mention of it at all, Downey started suspecting she might have a boyfriend, which ultimately led him to start following her. Then taking pictures. Then logging her every move.

While the sexual relationship continued even after Downey had already discovered and documented that she was dating Robert Keen, in the entries it was clear that he'd started to find more satisfaction in spying on her without her knowledge. He especially enjoyed it when he was able to catch her lying, saying something that he could contradict with his surveillance records. It became a real obsession, and Downey started describing desires to become violent during the sexual encounters, and how picturing himself torturing her turned him on and fueled his performance when they were together.

Eventually, Anna ended the affair, probably after noticing changes in his behavior, which was the last straw for Downey. Once again, control had been stolen from him, but he decided he would get it back. Already aware of her routine and schedule from the weeks of stalking, he had no difficulty coming up with a plan to kidnap Anna. He'd even described it as "too easy". The entries described the torturing sessions in detail, how he'd shown her the evidence of her betrayal, how she'd cried and begged for forgiveness, how she'd screamed in pain, how she'd begged for her life. It was a high for him, a high he'd never felt before.

_Am I at all different from the perps I've spent years catching? Is this how they felt after taking the lives of their victims? This alive, this powerful? There is simply nothing like holding the power over someone's fate. Life or death? It's the flip of a coin away, it depends entirely on you. There is no God to take the knife away from me and stop me from doing it. A swing of the blade against her thigh and she's gone. At my command._

_The sad thing is that Anna is the only one I would have given my life for. I was such an idiot. Instead, I had to settle for taking her life. Not a bad trade after all. It woke something in me: I will never feel that small again._

The experience had clearly changed Downey. It was as if having Anna at his mercy had been the first time he had ever felt in control of anything in his life, the first time he had felt confident. The next entry described how he had ended up assigned to Anna's case, and he made sure to hide any evidence that he even knew her in order to avoid the conflict of interest: he hadn't thought about it when he'd done the deed, but now he wanted the case. He wanted it, and he got it, and he was surprised about how much he enjoyed looking at his actions from the opposite side. He kept comparing himself to the worst perps he'd ever investigated, concluding he was better than them every time.

With him sabotaging any promising leads, the case seemed hopeless, and ended up almost forgotten as the unit got other cases. After a while, Downey wrote about how he missed that high, how everything seemed so dull now, after that moment of greatness. He's found a way to make Anna his forever, and it was the greatest accomplishment of his life. He started wondering how he would be able to feel that high again, and it became clear to him that he needed a new target.

He soon remembered Olivia, and figured she would be the perfect new target. With her, he had a chance to start from scratch, control her from the beginning, make her his in the most perfect way. He started stalking and photographing her, logging his impressions about her, her life, her work and their imagined relationship as though they had known each other for a long time and just reunited, just restarted a romance, in pretty much the same way as what had happened between him and Anna upon her return, except that now it was idealized, a work of fiction in his mind.

Even though Olivia seemed to be, apart from Anna, the one Downey had known the longest, it wasn't clear they had ever actually met, which somehow made it more difficult for him to break that wall between them, that barrier that made him invisible to her – Elliot noticed how conflicted he sounded as he started to question whether Olivia should be his next kill or not, question if he was ready for her yet.

He'd eventually decided that, while she would be perfect, and even because of that, he would save her for later. Instead, he remembered his most recent relationship of sorts: Elizabeth. In his mind, the stalking was like a reconciliation, as if they'd just picked up where they'd left off. The difference was control was now completely his: he would stare at her pictures, imagining the delicious ways in which he would torture her. While the stalking and the imagining turned him on, he would save that desire for when they were finally together.

"It's like masturbation," Huang had described to the team. "He teases himself with the stalking until he can't take it anymore, and when he's desperate for relief, that's when he takes them. The torturing is the sexual encounter, and the killing is his climax."

That also explained why Downey would manage to keep his instincts dormant for a while after each killing. It was as if he was still riding out the surge of hormones liberated during climax. Until he became horny again. When he did, after Elizabeth, his attention was directed to Olivia once again, and this time he demonstrated he was no longer satisfied with the one-sided relationship, with the distance.

She was, after all, the only one of his targets he had never really interacted closely with. While previously he had seemed willing to only make her acquaintance after taking her, he no longer seemed satisfied with that plan: he needed more time with her, he needed to get to know her better, see her in a setting where she wasn't being held against her will, become intimate with her with her consent. Elliot forced himself to read the long, disgusting entries in which he imagined what sex with her might be like, what her body must look and feel like, what her reactions might be.

"It doesn't make sense," Elliot had told Huang. "I thought he wanted to have complete control this time. Why risk being rejected again?"

"I don't think he knows the answer to that either," was Huang's distracted response as he seemed lost in thought. Eventually, he continued. "I think he just can't help trying again, trying to fix all of those experiences with one that might actually work. He still hopes for a happy ending for himself."

Elliot tried to make sense of that as he went on reading. It was decided: Downey was going to find a way to meet her, but he didn't know how. He knew it had to be something special, he knew he would have only one chance of a new first encounter with her (implying they had, indeed, met at some point, and that she might not remember it). He was afraid to disappoint himself if he didn't make that moment perfect.

That's when the idea had presented itself to him: working together. That way, he could insert himself into her life quite literally, become a part of it. And there would be no better case for them to investigate together than his own. It was perfect. Downey recognized that it was risky and he knew he was getting greedy, but he needed the high too badly, it was what he lived for now.

By then, he had already connected the first two murders, the investigation safely under his control, hitting dead end after dead end. As both deaths had occurred outside of Olivia's jurisdiction, he figured he would dump the next target in the city. And then he knew who would be the perfect next target: his former shrink, Angela. Killing her would bring Olivia into the case as well as provide him with some relief, allowing him to take his time with Olivia before actually taking her. Everything occurred according to his plan, and he was eventually called into the case when the SVU squad made the M.O. connection through VICAP.

Elliot sipped his coffee, only to realize that it had gone cold, making it taste disgusting. He had poured it on his way out of Cragen's office, but after he'd restarted reading, he completely forgot about it. Now that the timeline had been established, and while the beach house avenue of investigation seemed hopeless at best, his focus was to study closely the entries focused on Olivia, not only the ones Downey had written after meeting her (again), but also to analyze them against the entries he'd dedicated to her since the beginning, scattered among all the other entries describing whatever else was going on with him at any given moment.

Olivia seemed to be the only constant throughout everything. While the other women came and went, never mentioned unless Downey was actually in contact with them – through weekly sessions, relationships, stalking or kidnapping – she was always present, even when she had absolutely no idea who this sorry bastard even was. She didn't fit the timeline, or at least could not be pinpointed anywhere but from Angela's death onwards, and the squad hadn't been able to find any connection with Downey whatsoever; they had never worked together or even worked with people who might have introduced them to each other. It had to have been a completely random thing, which also explained why she'd forgotten about it.

While completely disconnected from whatever was happening according to the entries, she was always there, permeating it all as another character in his sad story about evil women, one who didn't seem to have hurt him personally, but who was always depicted as this presence, this constant in his mind, this object of adoration but for whom he had so much hurt and suffering planned. One of the first few entries about her also mentioned his mother: he was describing how ironic it was that he had a new Olivia in his life, talking about her as though she was a real love interest, someone relevant, someone he actually knew and had a close relationship with.

When it was almost morning and he could barely sit up straight from the pain in his back, Elliot decided to go to the cribs and read lying down. Even though he knew sleeping wasn't in the cards for him, he could let his body rest while he continued his research, now sinking deeper into the newer entries about Olivia. After Angela's death and his subsequent addition to the SVU team, Downey had actually broken down that wall that kept Olivia in the realm of his imagination, in which her every move was a matter of his interpretation, with no way of verifying if it corresponded to the truth.

It was clear ever since the first entry about meeting her in the squadroom that morning after SVU had caught the case that Downey had a different perception about her if compared to his previous musings, his previous daydreaming based on brief encounters where he mostly saw her walking into or out of places and on the distant observation of her life. Back then, he would describe seeing her as something almost special, as running into someone he missed dearly, or whose acquaintance he was eager to make or resume, even though he always made a point to describe it as one-sided, as him longing from her from a distance while she was completely unaware of his interest, like a geek who dreams about taking the head cheerleader to prom.

Now, he had concrete data to analyze, he had real interactions with her to make sense of, and it was clear to Elliot that it had been conflicting from the beginning. Downey wanted to find the evil in Olivia, but he couldn't. Of course he couldn't. That had actually been the main reason behind his decision to drug her, something he hadn't done to any of the previous victims, and Elliot couldn't help but think about how that was a desperate attempt at having control over this relationship he wanted to manipulate with her, not to mention how impairing her focus and judgment could help him go undetected longer. Downey had written about how, by drugging her, he hoped to be able to see how much she would be able to pretend once she wasn't in her right mind, once she didn't have complete control of her faculties. He wanted to strip her down of any masks she might be wearing in order to get a glimpse at her true self.

As they got closer, Downey's feelings started to become even more confusing. He couldn't make sense of Olivia against everything he had convinced himself she and all other women were. She kept surprising him, amazing him. How could she not? Maybe these entries were at the same time the easiest and the most confusing for Elliot to study, as he could really relate to them. It was as if the ambivalent musings about battling feelings that were developing against his will granted him special access to Downey's mind, and the other way around: many of the paragraphs Elliot was highlighting seemed to have been stolen from his mind and reproduced.

_I thought I already knew her so well, but I didn't. There's so much more to learn about her. I think the thing that impresses me the most is her eyes. The way she can look at people, the depths of emotions, the myriad of meanings she can express just by looking at someone. It's mesmerizing to be the one on the other end of her gaze, to be graced with all the compassion, all the love, all the goodness she's willing to share with pretty much anyone, anyone she thinks will need it. She's magnetic. _

Through those entries, Elliot felt the ultimate connection with the perp. "Son of a bitch," he said aloud, startling Fin, who lay on the nearest bed, but not enough to wake him up. Elliot lowered his voice when he spoke again. "He fell in love with her."

* * *

Still fixated on the idea of finding the beach house and facing the lack of any other leads, Elliot went through Elizabeth's personal effects with Munch and Fin's help as soon as it was officially morning. After a while of searching, Munch found among unrelated documents the printouts of listings containing information on several rental beach houses. A timestamp on the pages, indicating when they'd been printed, confirmed the timeline of her acquaintance with Downey.

"These got to be the houses she was showing him," Elliot said, unable to contain his excitement.

They split the listings up, and each of them left the precinct with a list of properties to check out. Elliot still believed they were on the right track, but after spending the rest of the day visiting houses and talking to people who knew nothing about Eric Downey and didn't recognize his picture or Olivia's, he realized that this wasn't how they were going to find the place Downey had eventually settled for.

"He didn't rent any of these," he said to the captain on the phone as he watched the sunset from the porch of one of the last few houses on his part of the list and one of many which were empty, which actually made sense in the beginning of winter.

"But how do we know which house he chose if it's not any of those?" Cragen asked almost impatiently.

"He had to have had a reason," Elliot thought out loud, scratching his head. "He wasn't just looking for a quiet hiding place with the added bonus of being near the ocean, he had to have had a personal reason for that choice."

"Are you sure he never mentioned anything about it in the journals?" Elliot could hear the frustration in the captain's voice, and he was sure the captain could hear it in his as well.

He started thinking about the people and events that had meant something to Downey, and a sudden hunch occurred to him. "Where was his mother buried?" he asked.

"Just a minute," the captain said before the line was filled with the sounds of him fumbling through paper. "At Cedar Lawn, East Hampton," Cragen informed him. "Why do you ask?"

"Why would she be buried around here if..." he started to explain.

"She was living there before she died," Cragen completed. "You think he was stalking his own mother?"

"Would you put it past him? I mean, as far as we know, they never had any contact after she left. Maybe he started looking for her."

"We need to find his mother's house," Cragen stated urgently. "We find her house, we find his."

"But we already looked for houses that could be linked to her yesterday when we were looking for any properties linked to him," Elliot retorted, feeling achingly powerless. "We got nothing."

"Then she must be using an alias or something," Cragen sounded hopeful. "Come back, we'll find it."

"Okay," Elliot breathed, hanging up the phone, more certain than ever that he was on the right track, but desperate at the possibility of being so close to cracking the case, yet still so far from finding her.

As he was thinking about this and putting his phone back in his pocket, he suddenly felt a presence, a moment before the cold, hard metal of a gun barrel touched his temple.

"Good job, Elliot," said the voice he was already expecting.

He turned around to face Eric Downey, who leaned towards him to get his gun and his phone as he simply put his hands up, hoping the squad would follow through on his hunch and find something sooner rather than later.


	19. Dark room

19 - DARK ROOM

Forty-eight hours, at least, Olivia calculated, sat on the mattress, staring at nowhere in particular under the blinking lights, wondering if it was night or day and wishing badly that she could see the sunlight – she'd never thought she would miss it so much before being kept in this windowless room. She'd been held there for at least forty-eight hours, maybe more considering she didn't have a clear recollection of the beginning. Something was wrong: she knew from the previous crimes that forty-eight hours was the usual length of the entire ordeal in Eric's killings, including the sexual assault, mutilation and the fatal wound, but with her, he hadn't even gotten past the battery and humiliation phase, which was usually only day one.

Well; he _had _almost gotten past the battery and humiliation phase and fast forwarded to the sexual assault, she recalled, wrapping her arms around her legs reflexively and swallowing against her sore throat as she remembered the preview he'd given her just a few hours earlier. But still, that wasn't the right order in which he usually executed the torture steps; he wasn't following his own M.O. at all. Something was different, something was wrong, and she couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not. All she knew was that not knowing what to expect was even more terrifying.

After that _quid pro quo_ talk, when he'd been nice to her and brought her water, and she'd been able to say some things and watch his reactions, the next time she'd seen him, just a few hours later, he had simply entered the room and, without a word, started beating her. She had tried to talk to him, beg for him to stop and defend herself, but that had only seemed to fuel his rage. It was as if he was in some sort of trance, some impenetrable state of mind; Olivia wasn't even sure he knew she was the one on the other end of his blows, and she didn't get a chance to analyze much further, because she'd passed out after a particularly hard blow to the head. After that first talk, she'd thought that maybe she could find a way to get to him, get in his head, use his feelings and previous experiences, persuade or manipulate him somehow. However, after that violent outburst, she understood that she had absolutely no idea what she was dealing with. And that had only been the first of many surprises.

After that, she'd been startled back into consciousness by the cold and wet feeling of a washcloth touching her face; there he was again, cleaning and bandaging her wounds. It must have been only a few hours later too, because she noticed he still had the same clothes on since that first time she'd seen him after withdrawal, and the stains of her blood on his shirt still looked fresh. Even though she knew everything he'd done to the previous victims, she was as scared as she would have been if she had no information at all; between the thoughtful man who was worried about her drinking her water too fast and the merciless abuser who had punched and kicked her until she'd passed out, she wasn't sure what to expect – she would certainly not have guessed the next thing he would do was to take care of her wounds. She watched it as he put away the washcloth and soaked some gauze in something that had to be antiseptic, noticing her open eyes on him.

"You're awake," he said softly. "Heads up: this one's gonna hurt…"

Olivia cried out in pain as the gauze came in contact with her forehead; she didn't remember that particular blow, but she was sure it hadn't hurt as much as it did now.

"Sorry," Eric said, wincing as though he was the one in pain, as though he cared that she was. "We don't want this to get infected."

"W-what the hell are you doing?" she managed, not finding the words to address the bizarre scene before her. "You're sick."

His hand stilled as he stared at her silently for a moment, like he had no idea what she was talking about. "You're confused," he said casually, resuming his movements.

"I'm not confused, you're crazy. There's nothing confusing about that," she snarled, using all the strength she could muster to sit up; he didn't try to stop her. "You did this to me," she pointed at the wound he'd been tending to.

"Liv," he sighed, clearly frustrated. "You got it all wrong. Hurting you is not the point at all."

"Killing me is," she shot back. "Like you killed the others. Tortured and killed. I know your M.O., remember? I studied it."

Eric patiently put away the gauze, put the cap back on the antiseptic bottle and wiped his hands with the wet washcloth. "It's not that simple," he said calmly. "Besides, you… You're different. You've always been different."

"Different from what?" she barked, at the same time lacking the patience for whatever game he intended to play now and curious to understand what was going on in his head.

"I've been watching you," he said, reverence in his light smile. "For years. Before all of it."

She shifted between his eyes looking for clues, but nothing she read there could explain the mixture of admiration and disdain playing across his features.

"I know, for instance… That no one is harder on you than yourself," he said matter-of-factly, then gestured at her wounds. "You think this is torture? Torture is what you do here." He touched her forehead with his index finger, making her jump at the unexpected contact.

"What are you talking about?" she whispered incredulously.

"Oh, Liv," he smiled, shaking his head. "Where do I begin, I mean… How about this self-imposed loneliness? The fact that at the same time that you want a relationship, you don't? That you want a family, but you don't? Sure, you assume you want one, because you never had one… And it seems so perfect, so happy."

He stood up, leaving his first-aid supplies behind on the floor as he started pacing.

"You see, it's all a mind game. I've been doing a lot of thinking about this, trust me. Trying to understand you. You believe you're not worthy of love. Deep down, you think that's the reason why you're all alone in the world. And yet, the reason you're alone is because you're terrified of getting close to someone. You don't believe you could survive loss or rejection, so you take every precaution to prevent that from happening. All of your relationships have been with people you weren't in love with. Am I wrong? Take the guy you were seeing just before me, for example. A nice guy, head over heels in love with you, and yet you thanked your lucky stars when a case had to keep you from going out with him." He paused, watching for her reaction; she just listened. "Give me the name of one boyfriend you ever had that you really saw as someone to share your life with, someone to become your family. Just one, give it to me. One name."

Eric stopped walking, his hands joined behind his back as he watched her, the corner of his mouth hinting at an inner smile that he seemed to be pretending to keep to himself for her benefit, like he didn't want to mock her. Olivia tried to keep her eyes on his, knowing that looking away would be an admission of defeat, but she couldn't face his knowing smirk. He was a nutjob, but he wasn't wrong. He was a psychopath, but he could read her like a children's book. She didn't have a name to give him.

"That's what I thought," he said quietly, restarting to pace. "I used to think you were like them. That you didn't need anyone. But I'm starting to think it's the exact opposite."

_Like them. _His previous victims? His mother? The women who rejected him, who didn't need any men? "So I don't fit your profile anymore?" Olivia asked, and that seemed to interrupt his thoughts; it certainly interrupted his walk.

Eric stood in place for a moment, completely still, like the processing of that question required his whole body's attention, but he never looked at her or in any other way acknowledged or replied to her question. He simply restarted walking and changed the subject.

"And then there are the traps you get yourself into," he said, like he'd suddenly remembered what came next in a scripted monologue. "Falling for a married man? Your partner on the job? How many stop signs do you need in order to allow yourself to fall in love with someone?" He walked over to her and crouched, lowering his voice when he spoke again. "He's the impossible guy, the only one you can never have, which makes him the perfect man to develop feelings for. If he rejects you, it's because he has plenty of reason to. And you don't ever need to find out, because he's not gonna leave his wife."

Olivia raised her eyes to look at him; he regarded her with an expression she had a hard time defining; at the same time that he seemed to speak as someone who knew her well, he also had a detachment, like a doctor describing his patient's condition. Like a profiler talking about a criminal he was studying. He was profiling her. The room started to make sense, with the two-way glass and the oppressive, moldy walls: it was an interrogation room. She was the perp, and he was her inquisitor, judge and executioner.

"But there was a flaw in your plan," Eric continued, the corners of his mouth now turning to form a commiserating smile. "He did leave his wife. And even then, he didn't want you."

Olivia hadn't even realized tears had started to form until she felt the moisture escaping her left eye and rolling down her sore face.

"He preferred your replacement," he added, barely louder than a whisper. "She was beautiful. Young. No history: a clean slate. You went undercover and that's how he shows how much he misses you. Or doesn't. By screwing his new partner."

"How the hell do you even know about that?" Olivia asked, frowning, right before running the back of her hand over her face to wipe off the tears, angry he could see them, angry they existed.

"I told you," he said, grinning and wrapping his hand around her forearm. "I've been watching you. For years. I had to watch _them_ while you were undercover. I was bored to death."

How many years ago had that benefit been? Three, four? Had he been stalking her that whole time? "You're sick," she repeated, shrugging off his lingering touch, but he seemed to ignore her as he stood up again, turning away from her to resume his walk around the room.

"And when that happened," he continued, "it only proved your point. That you're not worthy of love. The only man you've ever really been yourself around, the person who knows you best in the world. Not even him is capable of loving you."

"Shut up," she said, immediately regretting it. She didn't want him to know his button-pushing was working, that his torture was hurting her, but she couldn't just take it in silence. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about."

And he didn't. Her relationship with Elliot was so much more than that. How could he reduce it to such simple terms? Such mundane, cheap feelings? Label it as a mind game, a trap from her self-loathing mind?

"He rejected you," he stated firmly. "You were out of his life, without any prospect of coming back, and he was fine with it. He was ready to move on."

The next tear to fall seemed thicker and warmer against Olivia's skin, as though it had come from a deeper place inside her. A place tears were not allowed to emerge from, a place so well hidden that she barely even knew about its existence. A place that ached as sharply now as it had that day a couple of years prior when she had seen Elliot and his new partner together in the squadroom, his hand on the back of her chair, how close they seemed, how they even dressed similarly in casual, practical clothes. She would have expected Elliot to accept no one in her place, to fight and punch and get suspended, not simply deliver her desk, her chair, her part of him to someone else like that, on a silver platter.

Olivia didn't care if he had slept with her or not; he'd given her something much more valuable, something she had implicitly trusted him not to share with anyone else, not even his wife. Or at least that was what it had looked like that day, watching them from a distance. She had never allowed herself to think about that again, she had locked it in a box of forbidden memories, and she hated Eric for finding it, for throwing it at her like crime scene photos scattered on the interrogation room's desk, making her look, making her remember, rubbing her face on every gory detail in the images.

The verbal abuse had continued after that, and Olivia had tried to protect herself, to remember that this was a sick man with a serious problem against women, that attacking her was his way of getting back at other women he believed had mistreated him. She tried to tune it out, but he knew everything. He knew about her mother's rape, about her drinking problem. He knew about how, under her armor, Olivia felt lonely. He profiled every single detail about her life, and he was dead-on, every single time.

Eric accused her of torturing herself by working with rapes, forcing herself to relive what her mother had gone through. He said that maybe that was also her attempt at paying society back for her father's mistakes, like she had to compensate for him as the carrier of his degenerate genes. Like she had to prove to everyone, most of all herself, that she wasn't like him. He also knew how, deep down, she would have given anything to get to know her father, to know what it was like to be held by her dad, to feel safe in his arms. He said that maybe that was what was so alluring about Elliot: with five kids, he was the ideal father, responsible, a source of safety and unconditional affection. Strong arms, capable of holding his little girls and keeping them safe from harm, like no one had ever done for her.

After a while, she'd just sat there, listening, letting the tears fall as she faced truths she would have preferred to be left in the dark about. She was no longer trying to pretend he wasn't hurting her, she admitted it: she was broken. He had broken her. She was so quiet that he sat back down on the mattress with her and continued bandaging her wounds. She simply let him, trying to focus on the physical pain from the contact between the antiseptic solution and her gaping wounds instead of his words, but unable to, no matter how hard she tried. She figured knowing her injuries would eventually heal was better than nothing, since she felt like, emotionally, there was barely anything left to salvage.

Olivia also knew that, until the moment came for her to receive the fatal gash on the leg, he would just keep trying to make her beg for it – she was almost there already. And that was okay, because, as he kept reminding her, no one was going to miss her when she was gone. Of course, people liked her, they would be upset, but they would move on with their lives; it wasn't like she had any family that would feel like a piece of them was missing if they lost her. No parents, no siblings, no children. No one who would remember her as anything other than a cop, an SVU detective, someone who was good with the victims. He had actually said that. At least that also meant that no one depended on her, so there was a silver lining after all; no one would be left helpless if she died.

He just kept on talking, like he was just rambling on and on about the weather for the lack of something better to do, like he was just killing time while he took care of her injuries, like he hadn't been the one to inflict them, like the things he was saying weren't hurting her much more than those cuts and bruises he could see and touch on her skin. She noticed it when he suddenly went quiet, turning her head to look at him; he stared back at her with a look she couldn't quite describe if she tried to.

After a moment of silence, Olivia decided to speak, even though she wasn't sure anything was going to come out until she opened her mouth. "Why me?" she asked.

Eric frowned, like he didn't understand the question. "Why you?" he repeated before providing his explanation. "I _love _you." There was urgency in his tone, and he reached out for her hand; she flinched so violently that she almost lost balance.

"Hey," he said, moving towards her, crawling on his knees. "It's _me_. You don't have to be afraid of me."

In stark contrast to the sweetness imprinted on his voice, his movements were harsh when he grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. His other arm circled her shoulders to pull her into a forceful, crushing embrace.

"I've never abandoned you," he rasped. "I've never replaced you."

Olivia tried to control her body, but she couldn't contain it as she started shaking against his arms; it didn't help her fight him as he tightened his grip around her in return. This was it, she thought. He was going to start hurting her again. Start cutting her with a knife, puncturing her skin with a dull, rusty screwdriver, get her DNA all over a whole new set of torture tools, bought especially for her. As long as he would shut up, she would actually prefer the screwdriver. At this point, she would prefer just about anything to his cheap, stupid, accurate analyses on her life.

"I'm here," he whispered in her ear reassuringly. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I'll never leave you. I'll never reject you."

To Olivia's utter disgust, he cupped her face with one hand and rather forcibly coaxed it to turn into his, capturing her lips with his own. Her mouth paralyzed under his, rigid and pressed together as her chin quivered with a new set of tears. He ignored her lack of reciprocity, forcing her mouth open with his and darting his tongue in to touch hers, which retreated as farther into her mouth as possible in an attempt to escape him.

"S-Stop," she managed, the word muffled against his lips and ignored, her struggling arms contained between his chest and his overpowering hold.

When he pulled away, he smiled, like someone who's just shared the most loving and connected exchange. "I'm glad we're here together," he said, his arms crushing her.

This was worse than being brutally beaten. She was writhing against the arms of a crazy person, someone she had no idea what to expect from, and he was acting like they were on honeymoon, completely committed to that role-playing in absolute contrast to all the reality he had been able to capture and describe about her. As much as she feared for her life, in that moment she hated him above everything, hated his charade, before and now, hated how he lived in a fantasy world and how he was trying to force her to live there with him. She would have preferred the kicks and punches, at least that was real, at least that was not pretend, at least that was something she was ready to expect and knew how to react to.

"I hate you," she growled, right before spitting on his face.

Eric didn't seem surprised or bothered. He simply smiled, the smile of a madman, wiping the spit off his face with the back of his hand, but the way he spoke to her next had her wondering if he really was crazy, or if all of that was yet another act to push her buttons.

"Liv… are you trying to make me mad?" he said calmly, pushing the hair away from her face and tucking a lock behind her ear lovingly, in contrast to the extraordinary strength he was applying around her with his other arm. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. You're incapable of accepting love. Let me help you change that." His eyes darkened, in a complete gear change, and Olivia had no idea what he was changing into. "I'll do whatever it takes," he whispered.

As if he were moving to caress her, he carefully wrapped his hand around her neck, and before she could even understand what was happening, she felt it crushing her throat with an incredible amount of pressure, her breathing completely incapacitated. She wrapped both of her hands around his wrist, in a futile attempt to free herself. He forced her down on her back against the mattress, straddling her to keep her legs under control as he intensified the pressure of his iron-clad grip around her throat.

"Please…" she tried, but no voice came out to accompany her mouth's movements as she attempted to get the sounds out.

"If this is the only language you understand," he said, still calm, the effort he was making with his body completely detached from his voice. "Then that's how I'll communicate with you." With his free hand, he caressed her face, his fingers lightly tracing her jawline, lovingly, and she almost wanted that hand away from her more than the other one.

As Olivia came close to losing consciousness, his grip loosened, and she was able to take a couple of labored breaths, coughing from the constriction. He did not remove his hand though, still applying enough pressure to control the amount of air going in. She had barely recovered from the suffocation when she realized with disgust and a wave of paralyzing fear that he was rocking his hips against her as he straddled her, and she could feel his erection pressing intimately against her through their clothes.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered with reverence, then his face changed again; he now looked hurt, broken. "Why can't you just accept my love? Maybe I'll have to force you to."

"No, please!" she yelled, now all traces of anger removed and replaced with utter panic.

Olivia started kicking and fighting him, but he moved his pelvis downwards to contain her legs and increased the pressure around her neck. Struggling to breathe, she quickly lost the unfair fight as he successfully pinned both of her wrists against the mattress above her head with his free hand, and in that moment she regretted thinking that the psychological torture was the worst thing he could do: this was. She knew he was a rapist, and she knew that was part of his killing ritual, but she hadn't anticipated it at this point, before the cutting and piercing tools. Maybe she'd just been in denial, trying not to think that this would eventually come if she didn't manage to escape somehow. She started crying again, realizing she almost wished he would kill her already before she had to go through this. "Please…" she whimpered.

He bowed down to kiss her forehead lovingly, shifting his position to pin her legs down with his knees so he could move upwards to rub himself against her again, intensifying the pressure this time and controlling her airflow with a steady hold around her throat.

"What are you talking about?" he said with a smile. "We've done this before. You even enjoyed yourself."

She cried harder at the blurry, drug-colored recollections of being in bed with him, unable to stop blaming herself for being here. After a recent undercover operation in which she'd been sexually assaulted and come terribly close to being raped, she had vowed to never again put herself in a situation where anything like that could happen, but here she was again, about to be raped, and nobody but herself was to blame. Drugged or not, she had let her guard down around a complete stranger way too soon, ignoring Elliot's suspicions that Eric might not be trustworthy. But he'd seemed like a textbook good guy, like so many she had met before, like so many she had blown off before.

"Didn't you?" he brought her back from her momentary reverie, raising his voice and fisting his hand around her hair, the sudden and forceful pull eliciting a gasp from her before the pain kicked in.

She realized he had released her wrists in order to pull her hair, and immediately wrapped her fingers around the arm that held her neck again, sinking in her nails, scratching him, but he didn't falter and didn't seem to care.

"You filthy whore," he snarled, bowing down to take her earlobe between his teeth. "I'm going to fuck you again, and you're gonna love it," he whispered into her ear.

"No, _please_!" she cried out with all the voice she could gather against the rock-solid grip of his hand, now sobbing profusely, the tears streaming down the sides of her eyes towards her hair and her ears.

As if her current situation wasn't enough, she channeled her previous experience. She could almost feel the metal of the handcuffs around her wrists, paralyzing her assault of Downey's forearm, her fingers irrevocably frozen, the rest of her body slowly following as if an incapacitating agent was spreading through her veins, reaching muscle after muscle. She could almost feel the barrel of the gun against her head, seconds before Lowell Harris exposed himself to her. He was in that room with Eric Downey, with a gun to her head and waiting for his turn. Olivia closed her eyes, trying to escape the vision, but she could still see both men's predatory looks behind her eyelids, hear them mocking her inability to protect herself, a sex crimes detective who couldn't defend herself against a rapist. Two rapists. She was a joke, and they were having a laugh at her expense.

Any minute now, she braced herself, but then she felt the tension in Eric's forearm relaxing under her fingers along with the immediate relief as his hand released her neck. She could breathe fully again, and she did, noisily, opening her wide eyes to witness a strange look in his, some kind of wistful longing replacing entirely the violence and dissipating the atmosphere for a split second. Harris was gone, and during that quick moment, so was Eric, and Olivia had no idea who was there, staring at her with a tortured look, some emotion battling inside, the depth of which she couldn't tell, but it was something powerful enough to still his movements. He completely removed his hand, sliding out of her grip, and looked away from her as he got off of her legs and up on his feet, collecting his bandaging supplies.

When he looked down at her mesmerized face, whatever was happening within had already been once again completely concealed behind a mischievous smirk. "Later, though," he said. "We have time. Plenty of time."

And just like that, he'd walked away. Olivia had cried, copiously, unsure if the reason was that she was relieved he hadn't gone through with the assault or terrified that it had only been postponed. Now, her tears had already dried up, and she felt empty, hopeless. She was locked in a room, being watched, surveilled. She'd been attacked, insulted, and she'd been equally unable to defend herself from either form of aggression. She had no perspective of escaping; Eric would have to make a mistake, but she didn't see that happening. She remembered Nicole Jennings describing how much planning went into these killings, how someone had to be on top of every single detail to pull it off.

Now that Eric was acting completely differently from his M.O., she didn't know if that meant he wasn't stable like before or the exact contrary, since it made sense that he would change it all up for the only victim in a position to know everything he would do beforehand. She had no perspective of turning this situation around, she didn't have the first clue about where they were; she didn't even know if Elliot and the rest of the squad had already figured out Eric was the perp, that he had been the perp all along, or if they had any clues that might lead them to where he was keeping her. This was probably his real kill room, and he was a detective who had, until now, kept every incriminating detail about his involvement in the case completely under wraps: he would know all the ways the team could look for this place, and he would have taken every precaution to avoid detection. He had faked a kill room, for crying out loud, and the whole police department had bought it.

A terrifying chill shook her whole body as Olivia wondered if he had continued working at the precinct – that would certainly be the case if his cover hadn't been blown yet. He would still be controlling all the information about the case and probably be doing a pretty decent job pretending he was trying to find her like everyone else. She could imagine him acting all worried about her disappearance while he carefully hid all the evidence that could lead anyone to finding her. But Elliot had to have found something; he hadn't trusted Eric from the beginning. And now, with her gone, he would search for leads everywhere and listen to his gut no matter what. At least him, he would eventually realize Eric had her, and he would find a way to figure out where.

Olivia had fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of all of those thoughts, the opposition between her overall hopelessness about her situation and her faith in Elliot to do whatever it took to find her as a lingering, ambiguous notion that pervaded her sleep and remained when she was woken up by the sound of the door. What she would never have been able to predict, though, was that the person she was about to see coming through it was actually going to be Elliot, the only person she trusted above everyone else to never give up on finding and rescuing her. But when she stood up, relieved to see him, she had the biggest surprise of all: he wasn't going to save her.

"I'm not here to take you home," were his exact words, proferred right before punching her to the floor.

She didn't even have enough time to process how confused she was, because his next move was to get a gun from the hem of his jeans and use it to knock her unconscious again. Her last thought before being engulfed by darkness once again was that she had just watched her last shred of hope burning into flames, the ashes collecting all around her.

* * *

A nightmare; it had to have been a nightmare. Olivia woke up, startled, but she barely had a chance to hold on to the hope that Elliot's visit had been a twisted figment of her imagination; there he was, gun in hand, looking at her. She noticed that his hands were shaking a little, his eyes were wide and his breaths were shallow; he was nervous. She closed her eyes, hoping to avoid whatever was going to happen for as long as possible, wishing she could go back to thinking this wasn't really happening.

When she heard Eric's voice through the speaker, she felt it as tears started streaming down her face involuntarily. It hadn't been a nightmare, but it _was _a nightmare, one that only seemed to get worse by the minute, and which might actually be really close to ending for good – Eric's voice told Elliot to be careful with the gun so as not to end the fun too soon, and Olivia's head was spinning because Elliot was here _taking orders _from Eric, who had given him _a gun_. Still choosing not to face it, she wondered if it was pointed at her, if his finger was pulling the trigger, how long it would take for the bullet to hit her.

Olivia heard the clicks: one, two, three of them. She opened her eyes and saw Elliot pointing the gun at the mirror. He'd tried to shoot at it, and in the middle of everything Olivia was feeling then, she just couldn't begin to understand exactly why. He slowly lowered the gun, still staring at the glass. That half-second seemed to last for hours while she tried to figure out what he'd been trying to do and what he would do now that he knew there were no bullets, but even if she'd had a lifetime to wonder, she didn't think she would have considered the possibility that he would simply break into loud, thunderous laughter.

"Did you think you were fooling me, Downey?" he said, struggling to get the words out through the laughing. "You think I can't tell if a gun is loaded or not? I knew you were fucking with me. Now that was good though, wasn't it? Did I fool you?"

He laughed a little more before turning from the mirror to look at her again, shaking his head. "Did you see that?" he said, looking amused, starting to walk back towards her, slowly, tucking the gun away between his jeans and the small of his back once again. "He thought he'd fool me with an empty gun, but I scared the shit out of him in return. Now, seriously." His expression changed, all signs of laughter gone, and he even stopped moving for a moment. "It's very generous of him to let me come see you like this, from up close. I really didn't think he'd share you with me."

_Share her? _Olivia felt goosebumps breaking across her skin as he approached and instinctively crawled backwards to get as far away from him as she could. What the hell was happening?

"Elliot…" she managed, unsure if she was questioning or pleading, trying to reach him wherever he was behind that façade, because this had to have a reason to be happening. It had to be some kind of plan to save her, probably save both of their lives, seeing as he was here too, unarmed but for a bulletless gun.

Olivia decided to change direction in her crawling so that Elliot would have to turn in order to continue following her movements, his face completely hidden from the mirror; maybe he needed that chance to give her some kind of sign. Coincidence or not, she saw something flash in his eyes for a second, a different blink of his eye, something he always did without realizing it when he was trying to conceal something from her, that little flutter of his eyelids, like some part of him had to somehow betray his act and stay loyal to her, let her know he wasn't being completely transparent.

And then he turned his head to talk towards the speaker, as though there was a camera somewhere in that direction. Maybe he knew there was, and that was his way of telling her that there would be no hiding from Eric, that there would be no trading of secret messages.

"Thanks again for this," he said, his voice deep, then turned to look at her again, kneeling down slowly. "He gave me a chance to set things right with you before…"

Before he killed her? She squinted at him, listening closely, but he never finished that sentence. Olivia tried to read the look in his eyes; she wondered if he would be able to detect the mix of emotions dancing there himself, if anyone asked. Whatever they were, they just dissipated a second later when the door opened.

"Okay, I figure Liv must be confused," Eric said as he walked in, closing the door behind him and joining them with a gun in his hand. Olivia knew this one had to be loaded. "So why don't we just explain everything to her, Elliot?"

Elliot turned away from Olivia and got back on his feet, standing next to Eric. "It's your show," he said simply, shrugging.

"That's exactly the point," Eric retorted. "It's not _my_ show. It's Olivia's show. And how could it be her show without you?"

Olivia saw it as Elliot swallowed hard, but then he smiled. It looked like a sad smile, a pitiful smile. "I know," he confirmed, and Olivia heard the truth in that, she saw that he knew on some level how much he meant to her, and it hurt; it hurt that he knew that, because that gave him unfathomable power to destroy her if he ever wanted to. And as he stood there, next to Eric, taking directions from him, she could no longer state categorically that he would never want to.

"And yet… what would she be on _your _show?" Eric smiled. "A supporting role? While you're her main character… she's just an extra for you. Someone who's always there, exactly where you expect her to be. Practically a prop. Ready to take shit from you and still always be there, like nothing happened. Isn't that right? Tell her, Elliot. Tell her what she means to you."

It seemed like a test, like Eric wanted to check if Elliot would confirm it, if he would continue on his side in this torture game against her. Maybe that was just wishful thinking; she knew her brain would keep fighting it until the end, finding excuses and explanations for everything in order to reassure her Elliot hadn't turned on her. He looked at her now, his features opaque, his blue eyes darkened, and she was surprised that he could still make an expression that seemed so foreign to her after so many years of getting to know every configuration the elements on his face could form.

"She's my partner, that's it," he said, coolly, keeping his eyes on her, but she didn't miss the fact that he had referred to her in the third person. "Some things happened… That made things confusing… And I'm sorry about that, but it's actually very simple. Whatever happened… it shouldn't have. It was a mistake." He alternated looking at her and Eric. "I want you both to know that. I won't stand in your way any longer." After a pause, he settled on looking at Eric and talking exclusively to him. "I value our partnership, but that's it. She doesn't mean anything more than that to me."

Olivia couldn't stand to look at him after he said that; true or not, she knew he would see it in her own eyes, he would be able to tell how she felt hearing that, the heartbreak, the rejection, the inherent loneliness she had always felt in this relationship with him and which he was now confirming with his little speech. Maybe he was lying for Eric's benefit, but there was nothing she could think of right now that could exactly prove otherwise, that could assure her beyond a doubt that she did mean something to him outside of their work-induced relationship, close as it might be. At least Eric would be satisfied; whatever his arrangement with Elliot was, she knew the intended effect was to hurt her, and the undeniable tears prickling from her eyes were his reward.

"Olivia," Elliot said, finally addressing her directly, and she had to look at him to see it, to see that he was really looking at her, really speaking to her. No explanations, no excuses. "I wanted this chance to clear this up, because I don't want you to think there's something here, and I don't want to keep you from finding happiness with Eric."

_Happiness with Eric_: that was the play here. That was their arrangement, it had to be. But Elliot was too good at his part, and the voice telling her that nothing about any of this was real couldn't prevent her from feeling the pain of hearing those words. In a weird way, the fact that they had never had any conversations like this, with obvious mentions to feelings, using words, the fact that none of this was ever acknowledged, had always protected her from having to deal with the fact that she _did _do that, that she did keep herself from "finding happiness" with anyone else because she was still expecting a confirmation that there was nothing there between her and Elliot.

Not mentioning it and not knowing kept her perfectly safe in the dark room she'd spent so many years locked in; with the lights on, she had to face the fact that she was the one keeping herself in there. The room was no longer locked, her hands were no longer tied. To continue hiding in there from now on was completely up to her.

"I'm sure she gets it," Eric said, as though he was trying to comfort Elliot. "More than twenty years of marriage, it can get boring sometimes. And you're a man after all, I mean… You're not blind. She's a beautiful woman."

Elliot chuckled, like he might chuckle with an old friend over beers. "If I had a dime for every time someone told me they didn't believe I'd never fucked her…"

A tear fell down her cheek, just one, crafted especially to address that cruel, dismissive use of _fuck_ to refer to being with her, like she was nothing more than a body. She tried to remind herself she _knew _Elliot didn't see her that way. He didn't, he couldn't. She knew him better than that. And still, hearing it from his mouth hurt more than she would have imagined it would.

"I can… I can get pretty territorial around her sometimes," Elliot went on, but Olivia didn't have the courage to raise her eyes this time and check who he was directing his explanations to, even though he'd gone back to third person, like she wasn't in the room. He spoke in a monotone, cold, dismissive, detached. "I like knowing she's there, knowing that I can easily make her mine if I want to. I don't like having that certainty threatened."

"She's your toy, whether you want to play with her or not," Eric paraphrased, accurate again, reigniting the production of tears, which Olivia gave up trying to contain.

"The point is that anything more between us is a mistake," Elliot said, definitively. "Nothing should have ever happened. I love my wife. Olivia knows that."

She did, and that's how she knew this last line wouldn't have required any acting on his part. Maybe the fact that it was brutally, undeniably and immutably true was the most hurtful of all, because that alone reminded her that even if Elliot was just trying to convince Eric he was on his side by lying and pretending, the fact still remained that he was never going to leave Kathy for her. It was a losing battle, it had always been, and that's why she'd never had any intention to fight it.

Olivia risked looking up at Elliot and caught him looking at her, measuringly, as if he wanted to assess the damage; she looked down again, too ashamed to watch him reading everything she was involuntarily feeling and thinking and wondering, how that night they'd shared kept coming back to her, challenging his words, how she'd felt connected to him in a way she'd never felt connected to anyone, how it had felt mutual, and how her mind was now telling her maybe it had all been in her head, maybe she had just believed what she'd wanted to believe.

Maybe from all the reasons she had to hate Eric, the biggest one of all was the fact that, one way or another, this whole thing he'd gotten her involved in had unintendedly pushed her into doing these things she'd vowed she would never do, pursue these things she'd always known there was no point pursuing. Even if they made it out of there alive, the fact was that her partnership with Elliot was ruined beyond repair, for good. There was no going back from the things that had happened, there was nothing she could take back, no way of making things go back to what they'd once been.

In short, she had lost the little of Elliot she'd ever had. Lonely as it might have been to live with those feelings hidden, she would now have to live without him too – if she was even going to live at all. _Happiness with Eric_. Maybe Eric wasn't the one that needed convincing here; maybe it was her turn to face the facts among so many lies. This thing with Elliot had never even had a chance, and that was a truth that no amount of pretending or acting or concealing could ever dispute, it was another blinding light illuminating her former darkened room, showing her the door where it had always been, open, just waiting for her to walk through it.


	20. True lies

20 - TRUE LIES

Without a word, Elliot had let Downey handcuff him and put a black hood over his head. With the incentive of the gun against the small of his back, he walked wherever Downey directed him to, listening to the sound of the ocean and trying to maintain some notion of where they were headed. They didn't walk for longer than a few minutes, and Elliot wondered if he had been just about to find the house when the son of a bitch found him first. Downey signaled when he should stop walking by pulling at the back of his sweater.

"We're here," Elliot heard him say, then the sound of keys and a lock being opened. "You're so quiet."

And he was, but only externally: in his mind, way too many things were happening at the same time. For one thing, he was trying to commit the path he believed they had taken from the previous house to this one to memory, figuring this information could be useful later. He was also trying to fine tune what his approach was going to be, hoping to leverage from everything he'd spent the previous couple of days learning and studying about Downey. Because this was it, Olivia's fate was in his hands, and she might live or die based on the strategy he chose to interact with this motherfucking psycho, based on every single word he chose to say. So yeah, he was quiet.

But so was Downey, and Elliot couldn't help but feel apprehensive, wondering why he was so calm after hearing him on the phone with Cragen, talking about closing in on the location of the beach house. Wasn't he worried? Unless his calm meant that they were on the wrong track and the phone call hadn't gotten Cragen any closer to finding the property, but Elliot quickly discarded that possibility. He _needed_ to count on the fact that the squad would find them soon. He could only stall things for so long – if he could at all; that was yet to be determined. One thing at a time, he decided, and the first thing of all was to confirm Olivia was okay.

Downey led him down what must have been a short hallway, then into a room, and Elliot heard the door closing behind them almost noiselessly. That's when the hood came off, but the room was just as dark around them, except for the lights of several screens and a flickering light coming from… a window? Elliot took a step closer to look through the glass: what he saw behind it looked just like an interrogation room, but instead of a table, there was a mattress by the opposite wall, and it took a great deal of effort for him to suppress any reactions when he recognized Olivia, sitting on it with her head thrown back against the wall and a lost stare, fresh-looking bruises all over her face and arms, a big, bandaged cut on her forehead. She was awake, but with a heart-shattering expression that said she wished she wasn't, eyes swollen from having cried a lot at some point, her face now already dry of tears and emotions.

"What is all this?" Elliot muttered, the question escaping from his lips before he could think of censoring it.

"Do you like it?" Downey said, as if showing his newly-decorated place to a friend.

Except that the decor items were several screens in addition to the glass, the biggest screen of all. On the smaller ones, Elliot could see images from surveillance cameras in different rooms, which must be part of the house, including the one Olivia was in and the very room where they stood, the picture in a greenish shade of black and white, the image from an infra-red camera. There were also external images, covering what must be the house's access points – basically what looked like the front entrance and a back door. The only items of furniture in the room were a comfortable-looking office chair, from which one could watch every screen, and a desk, where a notebook lay open, half a page written on; Downey was still logging entries.

Elliot couldn't help but wonder how he had come about the idea for all of this, building an interrogation room, a surveillance room, installing cameras, but he figured this was just a step further in his stalking, considering all the material he had collected while following his victims' movements. The experiment continued here, each woman his lab rat, him in the center, watching from a control room, taking his notes like a scientist, pulling strings, powerful, like a god. This guy was batshit crazy, but a meticulous, calculating, ingenious kind of crazy.

Looking at Olivia again, Elliot swallowed hard, trying his best to contain the complex mix of emotions he was feeling. First of all, he was relieved, because she was alive, sitting there, breathing, right before his eyes. But then he felt grief, seeing her bloody injuries, her dirty clothes, her glassy eyes staring at nothing in particular. Angry, he wondered what this son of a bitch had done to her, the extent to which his torture had gone, and it took everything in him not to lunge at him, hit him with his head or whatever he could use as a weapon with his hands cuffed behind his back – but he knew that the gun Downey kept pointed at him would probably stop him before he could touch the bastard.

But then, as he continued to stare at her, Elliot realized with surprise that, as horrible as the bruises looked, Olivia didn't seem to have other kinds of injuries the previous victims had sustained, like cuts from knives and other tools. It made him wonder why Downey wasn't following his usual ritual – which by the way had never included bringing a guest into the party before either. Elliot hoped that those differences spoke to Downey's feelings for Olivia, the influence they might be having on the overall execution of his original plan or their role in, at the very least, destabilizing him. The fact that a meticulous guy like this one was improvising certainly spoke volumes, and Elliot hoped that whatever was causing this was something he could use to ultimately protect Olivia.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" he heard Downey's voice saying from right next to him, bringing his attention back to the present.

"She is," Elliot breathed, not sure what answer he was expected to give, hoping he had been vague enough.

"I was just thinking about how it was a shame you weren't here," Downey started. "After all, we talk a lot about you, how could we not? And then I went out for some air and I saw it: the brown sedan. I knew you were around. It was just a matter of minutes until I saw you, and I knew it was a sign that I should bring you over here. I figured you'd be worried, that you'd want to see her."

Taking a deep breath, Elliot was able to remove his eyes from Olivia and turn towards Downey; he was inviting him to talk, probably eager for his reaction, probably expecting rage, but he couldn't let impulses rule him now, he needed to calculate everything he was going to do or say, he needed to join into whatever fantasy was at play here, especially if, in this improvisation of Olivia's captivity, there was still room for debate on how it was all going to end.

"It's generous of you," he said, forcing a small smile. "You didn't have to do that."

Downey's eyes scrutinized his face, and Elliot couldn't read his reaction beyond a slight hint of surprise. "I just want to make her happy," Downey said, his poker face poised. "I knew she would be happier with the both of us here. Maybe it can help clear things up. You see, I've been trying to get through to her, show her how she isolates herself, keeping people at arm's length. Maybe she'll come around if she hears it from you."

So Downey wanted him involved in whatever torture games he still wanted to play, wanted him to say things to her; maybe that was something he could use. "I want her to be happy too," Elliot said, now turning his whole body towards Downey. "But I don't have such a big heart. It's hard for me to accept she's..."

"Not yours?" Downey chuckled, and Elliot's first thought screamed he was wrong, but was he? He certainly could not claim she was, indeed, _his_. And that _did _bother him, if he were honest; he realized that maybe he wouldn't need to lie or pretend as much as he'd thought in order to connect with Downey, who seemed to be watching the whole thought process in his mind from outside with amusement. "I know," he eventually said with a smile, pointing at the bruise he still had on his face from their brawl in the squadroom. Then his expression turned serious. "You're a selfish son of a bitch, but I'm not."

Elliot nodded, still unsure of where he stood. How was this going to work? Downey was going to invite him into the interrogation room, have him say and do things to Olivia at gunpoint? Maybe if he found a way to gain his trust, maybe if he pretended to agree with whatever Downey was trying to convince her of, guns wouldn't be necessary when he gained access to her. He didn't know if he should act like he cared about her or not; he was afraid that, if he showed how much he did care, Downey might want to harm her just to torture him, but if he didn't, Downey might not believe him and hurt her to punish him for his attempt to deceive him.

"Is she all right?" he tested the waters before deciding, trying to control his anxiety. "Are you taking good care of her?"

"Of course," Downey said matter-of-factly. "She's fine."

Elliot made an effort to nod in agreement, the image of her covered in bruises haunting enough even without looking at her again. And of course, Downey was able to detect his hesitation and the reason behind it.

"That is nothing compared to what you've done to her all these years," he accused disapprovingly. "This push and pull game, never completely disencouraging her, but never really letting her know if she had a chance or not, just feeding her mixed signals left and right. The responsible man, the family man, but who couldn't hide the way he looked at his partner."

Elliot looked down. As much as he hated Downey for everything and for what he was saying, he knew the bastard was right on some level. As much as he had tried to suppress those feelings, he knew he hadn't always been able to – even his wife had noticed he had feelings for Olivia, for crying out loud. He wondered if he really had sent mixed signals all those years, maybe instigated her to nurture feelings as well, encouraged it; if that had ever hurt her, tortured her, even if she weren't entirely conscious of it or, like him, in denial.

"Can you blame me?" It occurred to him to say; he remembered the journals, how he had identified with what Downey had written about inadvertently falling in love with her. This was the one thing he and this guy had in common, and it might be the reason why Downey wasn't following his original plan. He turned to look at her, making an effort to ignore the condition she was in. "I mean, look at her… She's… breath-taking." He turned to Downey again, who was now looking at her through the window. "And I'm not even talking about her looks."

Downey looked at him, his eyes scanning his. "I know," he eventually agreed. "She's… She's really special."

"I tried to do right by her, do the right thing for our partnership, for my marriage, my family…" Elliot made things up as he went, but as he said the words, he instantly realized he wasn't lying. "I tried really hard to fight this, for a really long time."

"Why now?" Downey asked, and his curiosity sounded genuine. "After ten years… Why did you lose control now?"

"I've been asking myself that ever since that night at the bar," he said, quite frankly. "I know you were there, I saw the pictures."

Downey smiled. "It killed me," he confessed. "I couldn't believe you were crossing the line. And she… It was what she'd been waiting for, for years."

Elliot wondered if Downey was right, if she had been hoping he would just lean in and kiss her one day, out of the blue, like he'd done at that bar. He tried to remember that night; he had made such an effort to block it, label it as a forbidden matter, something he wasn't even allowed to think about, that he had never really been able to reflect on what had made him do what he'd done.

"I mean…" he shrugged. "It was the kind of situation I knew I should avoid. Alone with her at a bar, drinking… I was playing with fire."

"Yes, you were," Downey agreed.

The explanation came naturally and unfiltered when Elliot allowed himself to think about that night in detail, remember what he had felt, thought, what had made him actually kiss her instead of resisting the urge. He remembered how he had been thinking about his marriage, questioning whether going back home had been the right choice and how, surreptitiously, fueled by alcohol, it had slowly crept in, the illegal, forbidden thought of what might have happened if he hadn't done that, how he had been secretly feeding this thought of him and Olivia, what might eventually happen if both of them were single for long enough, if they were brave enough to stop fighting this, take a step further and deal with the consequences – brave enough to actually entertain those thoughts when they were sober.

"I guess I just… wanted to see it, wanted to find out what it felt like. The 'what-if', you know?" he simplified. "I always thought that maybe, if I wasn't married… I guess that night I just couldn't contain the impulse to look behind the curtain."

Downey nodded, and Elliot could tell he had recognized the legitimacy in his testimony. He might be crazy, a sociopath, but he was a great profiler, a trained interrogator, and he would sense it if Elliot told a lie that swerved too far away from the truth; the more he could use real facts, the easier it would be to actually connect with the guy, and lucky for him, there were plenty of real facts at his disposal.

"But that was gonna be the end of it," he added, emphatic, shaking his head. "It was a lapse in judgment, and I hated myself for doing it to her and doing it to my wife. There were never going to be any more slips. I couldn't do that to either of them."

He remembered how shitty he'd felt lying in the bunk bed at the precinct thinking about it, how he had needed a moment before getting out of the car when he'd gotten home, how he had kept talking to Kathy to a minimum, even more than usual, afraid that he might give something away.

"But then _you _came along," he risked adding, his eyes trained on Downey's, analyzing every movement, every blink.

"What do you mean?" Downey asked, intrigued.

Elliot shook his head. "Seeing you two… it drove me crazy."

Again, it wasn't a lie. He remembered how out of control he'd felt, how he had gotten shitfaced, followed Olivia to the restroom, confronted her, pretty much attacked her, touched her inappropriately, his resolve shattered, his notion of right and wrong forgotten.

"You'd seen her with other men before," Downey argued, his body visibly tensing up. "Why was this different?"

It was a fair question. Maybe it had been his gut, screaming that Downey was bad news. Maybe it had been the fact that he had indeed already crossed the untouchable line once, blurred the boundaries, cracked the door open and not been able to close it ever again; maybe it had been about how impossible it was to put the pin back in the grenade. About how having had a taste of what it might be like to be with her had made it impossible for him to imagine anything different from that, including her being with anyone else, including him continuing to pretend the reboot in his marriage was working.

He took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I thought a lot about that, too," he started, with an idea of how he could bend the facts in a more favorable way for this one. "I think this time it really seemed like I might lose her for good."

"I don't understand." Downey tapped his foot impatiently, and Elliot knew this was a good sign, a sign that he was getting to him.

"I think you were the first guy…" he started, hesitantly, like he was uncomfortable saying it, like he didn't want to admit it. "In a long time… That really made me think… That I was really afraid…" he purposefully left the sentence hanging, incomplete.

"What are you trying to say?" Downey rasped; he was no longer completing Elliot's sentences, reading his thoughts. Suddenly, he didn't have all the answers, didn't hold all the cards.

Elliot cleared his throat, shifting in place, and this time he didn't have to feign his discomfort as he started fabricating what turned out to be yet another heartfelt confession. "Imagine my position. All those years, all those forbidden feelings… Very well-hidden… But I always feared that someday… I might have to attend her wedding or something."

Downey frowned, crossing his arms, waiting, almost pleading to be convinced. Elliot continued.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is… I was afraid you might be the one. The one she was really gonna commit to."

Downey looked away, considering, and Elliot hoped that meant he had believed that small lie carefully infiltrated among so many truths.

"Why did you think that?" He asked, still looking away, and Elliot could see he wasn't even trying to control his agitation anymore.

"I don't know… I mean…" Elliot intentionally hedged, trying to exploit Downey's anticipation in hearing his arguments. This was a delicate moment: Downey knew Olivia didn't have feelings for him, but maybe he wanted to believe she did badly enough to buy an explanation that made enough sense. "I know her… Better than she knows herself sometimes. I think sometimes I know things before she does, and I guess I could tell you were someone she could really…" he looked away, shaking his head, a tortured expression on his face to try and conceal his acting, his attempt at manipulating the manipulator.

"So then you decided to up your game," Downey said, undeniable anger now dripping from his words, and Elliot liked how he was able to provoke such unfiltered reactions. "You decided to give her the option she thought she didn't have to see if that would keep her from developing feelings for someone other than you."

Elliot guessed that was true on some level; maybe he had never really believed Olivia might be falling for Downey, but he _had _been afraid of losing her in the middle of everything that was happening. In a way, Downey had been the trigger, what had ultimately made him lose control completely and no longer keep from admitting to himself and showing her how he felt. "It wasn't a conscious decision," he said, truthfully once again.

Downey turned to face him again and he saw the hatred in his eyes. "And you picked that specific night, when she was most vulnerable, to show up as her savior, to give her something that, in any other situation, she would have refused, would have pretended she didn't need. Like she had always done."

Guilt invaded Elliot before he could even wonder if he agreed. Again, Downey was right: Olivia had been so atypically vulnerable, so much so that she had actually let down her walls, allowed him to walk through them unscathed. Had it been wrong to do so? Maybe if she hadn't been so fragile, she would never have given them a chance, she would have been stronger than him and kept it from happening even when he had already lost control completely. He wasn't able to figure out if crossing the line in those circumstances had been wrong, but he knew in that moment that what had ultimately happened as a result was _not_.

"I guess your plan backfired," he chuckled, truly amused by the irony. "The amphetamines were intended to help you manipulate her, but in the end they helped me. I guess I took advantage of the fact that her guard was down to... To find out if I could have her if I tried, finally see what the 'what-if' looked like. To know for certain I hadn't lost her to you."

"Son of a bitch," Downey said through clenched teeth, shaking his head, and Elliot wondered if it was possible that he was really falling for this. Maybe Huang was right; maybe he wanted too desperately to believe he could have his happy ending. "You're such a selfish son of a bitch," Downey repeated, looking away and shaking his head while his mind appeared to be processing some sort of calculation.

Elliot continued, still committed to his performance. "Looking at it now… I didn't think of her. Certainly not of you. I even forgot about my wife, my family… It felt so good to get her back, to feel like I was back in control… But then I realized I had fucked up. Good as it might have been… I was never going to end my marriage." Only after saying it did Elliot realize he didn't mean it, even though he had believed that for so long; he had always thought that, if he and Kathy were to separate for good, it would be her decision, never his. "I belong with my wife," he lied, now consciously. "I always will. What I did… it only hurts everyone involved. I'd give anything to take it back now."

Downey looked at him in silence for a few seconds, then at Olivia on the small screen. He stared at her for a long time before speaking again. "Maybe there's a way," he said, seemingly thinking out loud.

"How?" Elliot didn't have to make an effort to sound eager; this was it. Their "bonding" over Olivia, how he was going to get himself in the room with her.

"By making it clear once and for all that nothing else is going to happen between you and her," Downey's eyes were suddenly wide with excitement. "That you don't have any deeper feelings for her, that what you did was just a selfish way to feed your ego. To end her wondering, her suffering. To let her know you're not the guy for her."

"That _you_ are," Elliot added in an impulse, immediately afraid he might have overdone it, but a hint of a smile formed in Downey's lips, informing him it might not have been a bad move.

"How far are you willing to go?" Downey challenged. "If she's gonna buy it, it has to look real. _Feel _real. This isn't the time to sugarcoat it. If you really care about her happiness… You need to make it clear that there's no hope. It might hurt her now, but it will be the best for her in the long run."

_In the long run_. So maybe killing her was now really off the table? Maybe this new narrative Downey was making up included her leaving that beach house alive, so Elliot nodded, vehemently; the long run, that's where he needed to focus. Minutes later, Elliot's hands were not only free from their restraints, but also holding a gun Downey had given to him. He knew what Downey wanted him to do, but he tried not to think too much about it; at least that got him in the room with her.

Once he was inside, the task proved harder than he had anticipated; Olivia had seemed so relieved to see him, and it broke his heart that he had to shatter her hopes, but he had to go through with it. He was playing for time; whatever Downey had in mind for him to torture her with, Elliot was all right with anything that involved getting her out of that house in safety or at least keeping her alive for as long as possible until Cragen and the team found them. He prepared himself for what he was going to have to do and say. _It might hurt her now, but it will be the best for her in the long run_, he thought, his own reinterpretation of Downey's words now a mantra in his head.

* * *

It was easy to lose perspective. After being out of her mind for weeks, Olivia now felt like she was out of her body as well. Out of her life. She was so far away from what used to be her reality that she could barely even believe such reality had ever existed. It was as if the whole world was this room, nothing existed outside of it, and she didn't even know who she was supposed to be here, and who those two men were supposed to be, and if a time would come when they would stop hurting her with words and actions. It felt like hours had gone by in this room with the two of them. Maybe hours had indeed gone by.

Maybe in this reality, none of that even really hurt, though. If nothing else existed, why should it matter what anyone said about her and her life? Nobody she knew existed, including the man in front of her, the person she thought she knew best in the world but who now was nothing more than a copy of Eric, who wasn't even Eric anymore either; they were these two people with no identities and no other goal in life but to hurt her. If not even Elliot existed anymore, why should it hurt if he said she didn't mean anything to him? If nothing else existed, then nothing meant anything, and nothing mattered, and nothing hurt. She was numb.

"I don't know, Elliot," Eric said at one point. "I don't think that's enough. You see, Liv spent way too many years building this image of who you are in her head, I don't think a few words are enough for her to understand just how wrong she's been."

Olivia was exhausted, even though she had just been listening to them talking. She looked at Elliot; he swallowed, but his face remained emotionless, his arms crossed. "What do you think I should do?" he said in a monotone, and Olivia was almost more hurt by the absence of the real Elliot than by what this lifeless clone was doing to her.

"Actions speak louder than words," Eric suggested. "You said it yourself, some of your actions lately could have gotten her… confused. Maybe it's time to let your actions speak once again, now telling her the truth. I know you're really good at expressing anger."

Eric turned to look at her, like someone who's trying their best to cushion the blow when bearing bad news. All this role-playing was getting really old, and Olivia wanted to jump him, dug her nails into his face, draw blood, but she just waited. From the corner of her eye, she saw Elliot slowly approaching. Eric grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet, then yanked her towards Elliot, who received her with a slap that made her lose what little balance she had acquired in that second she'd been barely standing; she just fell back to the floor, taking her hand to her cheekbone to soothe the sharp pain from the blow which, in and of itself, hadn't been that hard, but the metal of what could only have been his wedding ring had specifically connected with her cheekbone and caused a small, painful cut.

Next, she felt her hair being pulled, coaxing her to an almost sitting position, her face very close to his as he crouched, and she felt tears falling down of their own accord; she guessed that it didn't matter how detached she was able to become from what was happening, how surreal everything felt, how numb she could get, there was still something intrinsically gut-wrenching about the fact that this was Elliot, it was his voice saying terrible things to her, the same hands that had touched her so lovingly just a couple of nights earlier now hitting her, making her bleed. She looked deeply into his eyes through the tears.

"I don't think you need any more proof," he said in a low voice, but his eyes didn't seem to match the overall aggressive stance.

Her eyes connected with his for a moment, and Olivia searched them for whatever it was that didn't add up. Through everything that was happening, she was able to find something familiar in the specific shade of blue in his eyes, and then she noticed, just for a moment, a different glint; his eyes were watering ever so slightly as he held her gaze silently. He loosened his fist around her hair, still using his fingers to sustain the weight of her head, and she held her breath, watching him closely, hanging on to the familiarity and the emotion she was almost sure she was seeing, holding on to that shred of hope.

"You know how I feel," he said, and when his voice broke a little, he put more effort into it, insisting in that connection with her eyes, willing her to listen closely to what he was trying to say between the lies. "You always knew, you had to." Olivia stared back at him, and he maintained that look that belonged to her, that he was offering her as some kind of reassurance, and she realized he was taking advantage of the possibility that his statement could be interpreted in more than one way. _She had to know_. Know what? And then he offered her something else, something that helped her understand what he'd meant. "You and me… It's popped into my head from time to time," he quoted her back to herself.

Olivia shut her eyes really tight for a moment, and when they opened, a surge of brand new tears were coming down, tears of relief, but she hoped the accompanying sobs could easily be read as agony by Eric – there was enough genuine pain in them for that. Elliot held her gaze for another moment, silently communicating with her, telling her to hold on for just a little longer, and then quickly blinked away the traces of his unshed tears, hoping Downey hadn't noticed any of it.

He had known this was going to be difficult, but not how much. Saying that stuff and watching it as Olivia believed every word was awful, but he kept repeating in his head that it would be worth it, that lying now would grant him a chance to tell her the truth later. It had been painful to witness it as she had felt exactly how Downey had wanted her to feel: betrayed, let down, deeply hurt. _Alive_, he kept reminding himself, and that had helped him do a decent job controlling his emotions thus far, but he didn't know how much more of this he could take; he just could no longer bear watching her heart breaking, piece by piece, without doing anything to reassure her somehow.

He was afraid his deception was going to start crumbling, but he needed to keep trying; there was no way of knowing that this wasn't the only thing still keeping Downey from killing her. Maybe because he really believed Elliot's acting, maybe because he was just having fun watching him struggle with it. Maybe if they could keep this act long enough, it would give the squad time to find them, and that was the reason he hadn't been able to resist the urge to try and reassure her; maybe that wasn't enough to outweigh the hurt for the time being, but he hoped it was enough for her to hang on for a little while longer, and for him as well, because he had to continue the show before Downey realized he was going off script.

"But I always made it clear that nothing was ever going to happen," he said, changing gears, forcing his voice to sound colder. "If you had any doubts, that's on you, not on me." He nodded towards Downey. "Now this guy… He really cares about you." He looked deeply into her eyes, willing her to understand this was the part he had been playing with all this, trying to tell her that maybe if she joined in and started acting like she was getting the message, then Downey wouldn't need him to continue torturing her. "You should give him a chance. He could really make you happy." He paused, watching her closely; the tears had subsided, and he could swear he saw a hint of determination in her eyes. "Either way," he said, in a definitive tone, "it's not my problem. My wife at home, the baby, my kids. _That's _my business. If there's one thing this whole circus with you and him taught me, it's to recognize what's really important to me."

Elliot let go of her abruptly, making her fall backwards, and stood up; she remained on the floor, and for Downey's benefit, he kicked her on her side, eliciting a gasp from her as she curled up in evident pain, her arms protectively holding the spot where he'd just hit her. He couldn't take it anymore. Seeing her hurt, hurting her even more. This had started as a means to try and bond with Downey in order to manipulate him, a way to stall him from hurting her, but now not only she was still being tortured, but he was the one performing those horrible acts.

If Downey had noticed any hesitation or emotions contrary to Elliot's actions, he didn't demonstrate; actually, when Elliot looked at him, he was watching Olivia with a gloomy expression on his face, which made him wonder if he was thinking along the same lines as him, no longer revelling in watching her suffer. It actually made sense, he thought, because he had been operating under the assumption that this guy had real feelings for Olivia, and if he did, it didn't make sense for him to want to cause her pain, to get off on it. But then again, this guy was a psychopath, a rapist, a murderer. How meaningful could the feelings of someone like that actually be?

Downey started taking slow steps towards Olivia, while Elliot took a step back, crossing his arms, his eyes on the gun Downey had been holding every step of the way; he had no idea of what was going to be the bastard's next move, or even what was going to be _his own _next move.

"Ten years taking crap from this son of a bitch?" Downey said, approaching her. He kneeled down next to her, and carefully moved the hair away from her face, softening his voice when he spoke again. "You think that's the best you can do?"

Olivia stared back at him for a long time, trying to contain the pain, the anger. _He really cares about you_, Elliot had said, and she had understood. This was what they were doing: showing her that Eric was the guy for her instead of Elliot. That was the message she was supposed to get from their little performance, that Elliot was the real bad guy, while Eric _could really make her happy_. That was why Elliot had been saying she didn't mean anything to him, had been beating her, making her question which kind of pain was the worst, while Eric knelt down to lightly touch her face, remove the hair blocking her eyes, speak to her softly.

She watched his expression and, for the first time since both men had walked into that room, it seemed authentic. It reminded her of that strange look on his face when he had stopped himself from asphyxiating and sexually assaulting her, something that might be transpiring without his knowledge. Or maybe it was just another incredible, award-worthy performance. She didn't know. Either way, Elliot's suggestion had been clear: to join in, act like she believed it all.

"I don't know," she said, treading lightly, her voice faint as she spoke for the first time since the torture session had begun.

Downey looked at her with an almost sweet expression, like someone who was truly bothered by the sight of her hurt, crying on the floor. He had to be faking, because he was the one orchestrating all of this, but somehow it didn't seem to be the case. He offered her a hand to help her sit up, and she wanted to spit on his face, but she didn't. Instead, she took his hand, accepting his help, and slowly sat up, her back killing her as she moved. Eric circled her with his other arm to help steady her, and she found a position to sit that didn't make her body ache so much. He followed her, sitting down on the floor as well, facing her, his gun still in his hand, pointing in her overall direction, while Elliot stood a few feet away from them, watching carefully.

"Why do you accept so little from him?" Eric said softly; he was still holding her hand, and it didn't seem like he planned on letting it go.

So little. Olivia had never thought of her relationship with Elliot like that, she had always just accepted it for what it was; a partnership, a very close one, maybe even a friendship. In a different situation, she might have found it impossible to imagine thinking of her relationship with this person she entrusted her life to on a daily basis as "accepting so little from him", but right now, she could see what Eric meant. She had pretended for so long, even to herself, that she didn't have feelings for Elliot, that she didn't expect anything more from him, because she didn't feel like she had the right to expect anything more, to feel anything more. She had done that to protect herself from the disappointment, because she knew that whatever it was that she inappropriately felt, he would never be able to reciprocate it.

He was a married man, he had a family, and she would never have done anything to jeopardize that. She cared so much about him and his happiness that she was willing to ignore her feelings, whatever they were, and prioritize his well-being, his happiness, save his marriage, be there for him unconditionally, never expecting anything in return. At least not on the surface; deep down, though, she did expect more from this person who was pretty much the most important one in her life. So yes, if she was being honest, just the partnership, just the friendship… It wasn't enough. It was less than she would have wanted from him. And yet, she accepted it. _Why did she accept so little?_

Olivia tried to come up with a reply that made sense for the plot he and Elliot had created, but what she thought of wasn't exactly made up. "Everybody's left me," she said, and it was almost a whisper. "Everyone I've ever had… everyone's gone. Everyone but him. He stayed."

A tear rolled down before she could realize she was even about to cry. Elliot's heart broke watching her speak, because he knew what she was saying was heartfelt, and what was worse, it was probably something she had never allowed herself to admit before. He realized then that her feelings for him, whatever they were, might have developed from a survival instinct, a need to cling to the one person she felt she could count on, from not having anybody else.

"But you deserve more than that," Eric said, still softly, his brow furrowed. "You deserve someone who's entirely yours, who can reciprocate everything you have to give."

Olivia looked down, unable to hold Eric's gaze as she continued to cry sparse, silent tears. He was right, there was no denying it. Maybe Elliot wasn't the sadistic bastard who got off on torturing her that they'd been portraying, but she knew, she had always known, even at the highest point of their connection that night they'd spent together, that, however he felt about her, there was no chance that he would break up his marriage and blow up his family just to be with her, and that was ultimately what was so hurtful about his torturing of her: he had faked, but this underlying truth had always been present.

Eric gave her hand a light squeeze, as though encouraging her to engage with him, and she looked up. It was uncanny how he could change right before her eyes, transition between different personalities as if he were changing costumes, and it made him look completely different to her. Right now, he was that good-looking man with nice eyes who had told her to call him by his first name, that good guy who had touched her arm and said it must have been hard to work at SVU for so long, that sweet man who had kissed her so lovingly that first time. That dependable guy who had saved her life and told her that, whatever the consequences of that had been to his career, all that mattered was that she was okay. She remembered how all of that had made her feel guilty for not reciprocating his feelings.

"You're saying that," she said, taking a deep breath and wiping her tears, making an effort to sound stronger, "but you do the same thing. You accepted little from me too."

Olivia hadn't meant it as an accusation, and Eric didn't seem to take it as one either. He gave her a sad smile.

"Touché," he said, his smile growing wider. He nodded. "I guess we're even more alike than I thought."

She nodded. "It's like you said earlier. You said I don't believe I'm worthy of love… I think you don't believe you're worthy of love either. We accept little because we think we don't deserve more than that."

Eric nodded, letting his smile fade, and Elliot couldn't read him at all. They were both sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing each other, holding hands, and even though Downey seemed calm, he still pointed a gun at Olivia, his hand resting on his thigh like it had been forgotten, but his finger still not far enough from the trigger to ease Elliot's mind.

Olivia thought about how she had initially identified with Eric, the fact that he seemed quite lonely since losing his partner – a loss she could tell had hurt him deeply. It was very difficult for her in that moment to reconcile the evil and the human aspects in Eric; it didn't seem like they could fit into just one person. They stared at each other in silence, and it looked like he was expecting her to continue speaking, so she did.

"We learned how to take care of ourselves way too early," she said. "It told us we couldn't count on anyone, and we believed it."

He nodded. "But we're not children anymore," he said. "We don't need to be on our own."

She thought about that, and she couldn't help questioning it. It was so much safer to be on her own. Lonely as it might be, at least it was what she knew, what she was used to. There were no surprises. She wanted to look at Elliot, but she didn't. She remembered her night with him, how loved she had felt, and it hurt so much to know that it could be that good that she almost wished she had never experienced it. It was one good moment that she was going to miss for the rest of her life. Her eyes started watering again.

"But everything ends," she whispered, a warm tear rolling down her face. "Everything changes, people come and go, they fall in and out of love all the time… What's the point?"

Eric's lips moved like he wanted to answer her question right away, but couldn't find the words. He seemed to be searching his own mind. Somehow, watching him come up empty made her feel an even greater sadness.

"To have something good for a while… and then miss it forever," she complemented. "Why even bother?"

He shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "If you never had it, how can you know it's not worth it?"

His question was like a punch in the gut; she didn't have an answer.

"Elliot, for example," he continued. "He's opened himself to a relationship. Maybe it's not ideal and not the life he would be living if he were to choose what he really wanted instead of doing what he thinks he should do, but he still allowed it to happen in his life."

Elliot was surprised by Downey's statement. From his words, it was clear he had never believed what he'd said earlier about belonging with his wife and not having feelings for Olivia.

"Maybe his marriage is a failure now, but it wasn't always," Downey continued. "How many good years did he have before that? That must count for something."

"What about you?" Olivia asked, eager to talk about anything other than Elliot's marriage, but also curious to know. "Was it good with Anna?"

Eric was visibly surprised and affected by the question, and for a moment Olivia regretted the risk she'd taken. Elliot felt his whole body tensing up as he waited for Downey's reaction, but he simply took a deep breath and answered.

"Yeah, it was," he said, and he seemed to be going through memories. "I thought I was going to marry that girl." He smiled, such a sad smile that it earned a tear from Olivia and, shockingly, one from him as well; she had never seen him cry.

"What happened?" she asked, now her turn to squeeze his hand.

Elliot was mesmerized by what he was witnessing. He had hoped Olivia would engage in the farce he had created, but it had turned into something totally different. Downey had been completely engulfed by the connection she had initiated, and surprisingly, she seemed completely invested in it as well. It was as if this was a wrinkle in time, a lapse in reality, a supernatural event. He was afraid to breathe around them, afraid that anything he did could burst the bubble.

Downey seemed lost in thought for a moment before he replied. "She left me," he said. "She wanted to live abroad, so she said no when I asked her to marry me."

Olivia could feel the pain in his testimony. She watched him for a while before speaking. "So you've had it. You should know if it's worth it or not. Is it?" she motioned to their surroundings. "It doesn't seem like you think so."

Eric shrugged, looking away, then shook his head, his eyes moving fast in every direction as he thought but, eventually, he seemed to give up trying to come up with an answer and settled for silence. After a while, he shook his head again, now smiling, and looked up at her again.

"You're really something," he said. "You're so… full of love. Who could imagine you don't think love is worth the risk?" He stared at her for a long time. "Me… I'm not like you," he said. "I'm not as good, as positive, as giving. It's no surprise someone like me doesn't think it's worth it, but you… I just don't understand it."

Olivia smiled sadly. "I'm not sure that's true," she said, and he seemed surprised. He waited for her to continue. "I'm not sure you really don't think love is worth the risk."

"I used to be sure," he retorted. "But when I look at you…" he swallowed, shaking his head again. "You make me believe. And I'm trying so hard not to."

She let go of his hand and slowly stood up. He reluctantly followed her movements, looking disappointed at the loss of contact.

"All this," Olivia looked around with a crooked smile. "These are your walls. This is you fighting it, trying to protect yourself."

As they moved, Elliot held his breath, his eyes on the gun; now, Downey was no longer pointing it at Olivia. The barrel was facing down as the glock seemed to hang from his hand, forgotten. Elliot started wondering if it was safe to try and get it from him. How fast would his reflexes be? The gun was still too close to Olivia, making it hard for him to gather the courage to take the risk.

Eric let out a deep sigh. "Have I messed this all up?" he asked, sadness in his eyes. "I mean, us… Have I fucked up my chances with you by trying to control it, manipulate it?"

"Have you thought about how maybe this is what you've always done?" Olivia deflected his questions; his _chances with her_ were nonexistent, because he was a rapist and a murderer. But that Eric, the one he had seemed to be, the one he sometimes showed he could be, the one he was impersonating right now… If he had been that guy, she figured he might have had a real shot with her. "Maybe you always sabotage your relationships, just like me. Even with Anna. Maybe you drove her away by trying to label what you had, put a ring on her finger."

She smiled, and he smiled back at her. After a moment, he took a step closer to her, and it took everything in Elliot to remain still.

"Can we start over?" Downey whispered.

Olivia realized then that it was the first time in that conversation that she would have to lie. She avoided words, fearing they might sound too fake, and replied only by closing the distance between them, framing his face with her hands and leaning in to kiss him. Eric immediately wrapped his arms around her, responding in kind, the gun still in his right hand, touching her back now.

Elliot felt his heart racing with adrenaline; this was it. There would be no chance like this one. Downey had his guard down and his eyes closed, which gave him an advantage. He only needed to approach them fast enough and go for the gun with everything he had. He took a quick moment to plan his movements before he lunged at them, his hands aiming for Downey's against Olivia's back, but even before he reached them, Downey pulled away, quickly, and in a split second he had the gun at Olivia's forehead.

"Don't you dare, Elliot," he yelled, and Elliot stopped moving altogether, with his hands up, standing inches away from them.

Downey shook his head with a sad smile and wide eyes, then looked at Olivia with clear disappointment. "I wish you hadn't done that," he said. "He's a pretty okay liar, but you suck. I told you. I knew the minute you leaned into me, but I wanted so badly to believe it would feel true." He paused, and Olivia could swear she saw moisture gathering up in his eyes. "It didn't."

"I was trying to start over," she countered.

"Liar!" he yelled, so sudden and loud that she closed her eyes defensively. For some reason, his disappointment was moving her to tears, making her really regret her lie.

"I'm sorry," she said, no longer trying to pretend. "I really am."

Downey's only reply was to shake his head, but then he stood up straight, assuming a stronger stance and emphasizing the touch of the barrel against her head.

"Elliot, step back, very slowly," he said.

"Okay," Elliot said reassuringly, his hands still up, taking a few slow steps back. "You're the boss."

"There, that's enough," Downey said. "Not too close, not too far. If you move, I'll blow her head off." He paused, as he seemed to be processing his anger. "I should blow her head off anyway."

And then he was silent, and everything stood still for a moment. Olivia closed her eyes, unable to face her destiny if this were to end right now. Elliot watched it as Downey really considered pulling the trigger, letting the anger take over his face and a couple of tears roll down. But then he saw it: Downey had that same look on his face he'd had when he had shot Wyatt in that alley to save Olivia's life. The only difference was that now he was the one holding the gun, the one with the power to kill her, and the power to save her, all rolled into one.

He had that same expression of panic, uncertainty, anger and worry, and Elliot watched it as all of those feelings were at war inside his head, a battle between his love and his hatred, between killing Olivia and saving her. Elliot could clearly see the moment when one of the sides won: he decided to save her. In a quick movement, he removed the gun from her forehead and started moving to point it at his own head instead, and in that split second when the gun was no longer pointed at Olivia, Elliot knew what Downey was doing, and something in him didn't let him simply watch it quietly.

Olivia opened her eyes in surprise when she could no longer feel the metal of the barrel against her, and everything happened so fast that she barely had time to understand anything; she saw Eric's arm moving the gun towards his own head and Elliot jumping him, reaching him at the exact moment when the gun went off, an explosion of sound, light and blood, and both of them fell to the floor.

"No!" the anguished cry ripped through Olivia's throat, but it was muffled by the blast of the door being broken down and the sounds produced by the armed officers that immediately started swarming into the room.


	21. Blood stains

21 - BLOOD STAINS

_He talked about her all week after that night. And he was right; she was stunning, smart, funny. You could tell just from a few minutes talking to her. He'd been expecting her to call him before he tried calling her. Somehow, without the alcohol, he didn't feel as bold to approach her, so he was hoping she'd be the one to take the initiative. She didn't. He tried her cell a couple times, she didn't pick up, he didn't leave a message, she didn't return the calls. End of story._

_Eventually, he stopped talking about her, and life went on. We worked our cases, arrested perps, and I listened to his problems. He would listen to mine too, if I ever had any. I didn't. Life was simple for me. I was pretty good at my job, I had a way with the ladies, never letting them stay long enough to become a problem, I had no ex-wives, no custody battles, no unrequited crushes on beautiful detectives who wouldn't call me. I just moved on, never letting anything hit me. It was a good life._

_Todd had gradually become my best friend. I didn't usually get close to people, not since Anna had left me, but Todd was my partner, and it was natural for us to develop a close relationship. But I had been right in not wanting to get attached: if people didn't leave, they died. It was just the way it worked. _

_I'll never forget the sight of him lying on the ground, blood pooling around him, his eyes open but expressionless, lifeless. His funeral, people crying, the NYPD homage to him, the sun shining bright like nothing had happened. That day I went back to the precinct, because I had nowhere else to go. His empty desk was proof that he'd been there, that something was missing, but for how long? How long would people consider appropriate to wait before removing his stuff, filling his position? I sat down in his chair, trying to look at things like he used to, literally and figuratively. _

_Among his stuff, I recognized the napkin. I took it in my hand and contemplated Todd's handwriting, which would never be printed anywhere else ever again. It said _Olivia Benson_, on top of a phone number. That detective he had been so smitten with, but who had preferred to go back to her partner. Todd had given her his business card, with a phone number that would now lead to nobody. Did this bitch know that he had been a great man? Honest, hard-working, reliable? Did this bitch know anything about the guy she had so quickly dismissed? Did this bitch know that he had died in the street, shot down, like his life didn't matter? _

_I know that she had nothing to do with anything. I know that. But somehow, looking at that napkin, that's where it started. All this hatred started piling up, I couldn't take her dismissive eyes out of my mind, the threatening look her idiot partner had thrown at us. Life wasn't fair, the fact that those morons were still alive while Todd was dead. _

_And her name, too. Olivia, like my mother. I intrinsically hated anyone with that name; it wasn't hard to let that little spark ignite and become a huge fire. I had all this hatred, all this hurt, all this injustice I needed to channel somewhere. Olivia, the entitled, dismissive little detective. Who did she think she was? Well, to me, she was the winner._

_I folded the napkin carefully and put it away in my wallet._

* * *

His heartbeat. It was so tempting to focus on that, let it rule everything, set the rhythm for the world around her, block everything else, take her away from all the pain, the blood, the grief, transport her back to a place of safety, to a place where it was natural for her to hold him tight and listen to his heartbeat, to lie on his chest and fall asleep. But she couldn't block everything out, she could still hear the muffled sounds of voices, radios, and his whispers into her hair, almost more felt than heard, _I'm sorry_. _It's okay_.

Olivia clung to his sweater, afraid to let go, afraid that if she stopped listening to his heart, it might stop beating. She wasn't sure what had happened. All she knew was that the gun had gone off, Eric and Elliot had fallen to the floor and, for a moment, she hadn't known if either of them was hurt. She had screamed, _No!_, and then she had been paralyzed, as though watching everything from outside of her body.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The door was violently broken down, officers started running into the room, surrounded both of them on the floor, secured the gun, someone radioed that a bus was needed immediately, but her view was blocked. Shock didn't allow her to move much, she only deflected the arms that tried to touch her, check on her, trying to move past the confusion, but before she was able to, Elliot emerged from the middle of it and pulled her into his arms. She could suddenly breathe again.

Elliot could hardly believe that it was all over and they were both safe. He squeezed Olivia against his chest, battling between the fear of hurting her already bruised enough body and the urge to keep her there forever, where he could make sure she would be safe from harm. She pulled away a moment later, tugging at his bloody clothes to try and check if he was wounded, but her hands didn't respond right, they shook too hard, she couldn't lift his sweater. He took her hand in his, squeezing gently, aware of what she was looking for.

"The blood's not mine," he assured her, and she relaxed back against his chest, but not for long.

When Olivia was able to gather the courage to pull away from his chest again, trusting his heart to continue beating on its own, she maintained a firm grip on his sweater, securing him as she tried to look past him. Again, he was able to read her.

"Don't look," he warned, driving her away with his body to stop her from trying. "He's gone."

Olivia wouldn't be able to explain what she felt if anybody asked but, upon hearing that, she started sobbing. Maybe it was mostly from relief that it was all over, but she could also detect a tinge of grief, she wasn't sure if it was due to the fact that he was dead or the way he'd died. She covered her mouth to contain the sounds, but there was nothing she could do for the violent heaving of her chest. Elliot held her again, resuming the I'm sorry whispers, the it's okay kisses on the top of her head, but she pushed him away, in a sudden urge to escape that room.

"Get me out of here," she managed to plead.

Elliot granted her wish immediately, keeping her close to his body as he started moving, shielding her out of the room. Lights illuminated the previously dark hallway as they passed towards the front door, through which he could see it was dark outside. He wondered what time it was, how much time had passed since he'd walked into the house, into the room, which had certainly felt like several hours – he estimated it must be the middle of the night. As they reached the outside of the house, among the blinking lights from the police cars and the ambulance, another ambulance arrived, and the paramedics had barely made it out of the vehicle when Elliot told them they needed to check on Olivia.

It was all still fuzzy as they walked out of the house. Olivia saw familiar faces, the team, the captain, they were smiling, and she knew they were happy to see her alive, but she couldn't smile back. She couldn't do much at all, she just let Elliot lead her, walking along, until she realized she was in the back of an ambulance being examined, Elliot close by, never breaking eye contact with her. A while later, the paramedic who had been checking on her and taking care of some of her wounds said something about going to the hospital for CT scans to rule out internal injuries and left, closing the doors behind him right before the bus started moving.

Elliot sat next to her, with his arm around her, now more focused on securing her than anything else. As the ambulance moved away, Olivia was slowly able to ground herself, to understand that it was all over, that she and Elliot were alive and out of the house, driving away, leaving Eric's dead body behind. She took a deep breath, the first conscious one since the beach house, and looked up at Elliot. He watched her, patiently, waiting for her. After a few moments of silence, he ran his eyes over her, taking inventory of the cuts and bruises covering her skin, guilt hitting him hard as he recognized the ones that had been caused by him.

"Liv…" he breathed, sadness in his eyes, a slight shake of his head. "I'm… I'm so sorry."

For a split second, Olivia wondered what he was apologizing for, but her doubt quickly vanished as flashbacks of him punching, slapping and kicking her flooded her mind all at once.

"I know you are," she said, her voice surprisingly strong, but she couldn't hold his gaze.

She didn't blame him for the bruises, she knew he had quite possibly saved her life with them, but she couldn't deny the pain, he had witnessed it, he was still witnessing it in every black and blue stain on her skin, every bright-red drop of her blood, the dark traces of what had once been mascara and eyeliner in the dried moisture around her eyes and down her cheeks. He waited until she looked up at him again to continue.

"Everything I had to do…" he said, struggling to keep his eyes on hers through the guilt and the shame he felt. "Everything I _said…_ you need to know that…"

"I know," Olivia nodded, not so much because she knew, but mostly because she couldn't do this right now. It was all too much already, she couldn't _talk _about it too.

Elliot understood, he knew her too well; she wanted him to stop apologizing, at least for the moment. He respected it – he had something more urgent to ask her anyway. "Did he hurt you?" he said. He knew he had hurt her, it was obvious, but he couldn't voice what he was actually trying to ask. "Did he…?"

She knew what he meant. "No," she rushed to say, her eyes moving away from his quickly, and he knew that wasn't entirely true. She looked back up at him and he stared at her until she explained further. She chewed on her bottom lip. "He almost did but… then he stopped."

He let out a long, relieved sigh. "It's over," he said, squeezing her reassuringly. "Now it's really over. We're just gonna get you checked out now."

Olivia nodded, circling his waist, hanging on to him to try and reconnect with reality, whatever it was now, out of that room, after everything. _Now it's really over_, Elliot had said, but he was still looking at her with those sad, regretful eyes, occasionally shaking his head, and she wished he would stop blaming himself. She knew whatever he'd had to do had the sole intention of saving her life. She knew it now, she had always known, even when he'd made her cry and bleed.

"I'm fine," she said, trying to sound reassuring, succeeding in bringing his eyes back to hers and off of her injuries.

"I failed you," he whispered, touching her face, now that he was allowed to, his thumb lightly soothing the cut on her cheekbone, then moving to caress her jawline. "In so many ways."

He looked away from her, shaking his head, and a moment of silence followed. She was the one to break it.

"He fooled us all," she said soothingly, bringing his eyes back to her face immediately. "Hurting me was his plan all along. It could have been a lot worse. You saved my life."

Elliot wondered if she was right. When push had come to shove, Downey had preferred to shoot himself instead of killing Olivia, and there was no way to tell if he'd had any impact on that decision. The answer to that question was splattered all over the wall of that room, written in Downey's blood, in a code no one would ever be able to read. Elliot would never know if he had really saved Olivia's life or just hurt her for no reason. And yet, there she was, speaking with her lip still swollen from his punch, trying to comfort _him_ after everything he'd said and done. It was so much like her.

"I love you," he whispered, and he saw it as her eyes instantly widened, as her breath hitched.

Olivia's mouth moved, but nothing came out; she was too shocked to utter words, but she felt her heart racing and her stomach fluttering. She wondered if she had heard him right, maybe she had hallucinated it. Either way, it was way too much for her to deal with, so she just settled back against his chest, nuzzling her way into the crook of his neck as he secured her with both arms, supporting her in the limited space of the gurney.

If his apologizing for hurting her had been too much for her, it was obvious that his love declaration would be overwhelming, if she was even able to process it properly, but he'd had to tell her. While she was gone, he hadn't been able to stop blaming himself for never having told her, for the fact that she might die without knowing. Now, that she was going to live, he found out that letting her live a second longer without knowing was just as unfair, so he'd said it. He would find a better moment to say it again, when they could actually talk about it, and he would keep saying it until she understood. All he knew was she needed to know.

Digging his fingers into her hair, Elliot traced circular patterns on her scalp, the relaxing effects of his movements rippling throughout her body, making her muscles relax. A few moments later, he realized she had fallen asleep in his arms, her breathing even, her arms still around his waist, secured together by her interlaced fingers.

He kissed the top of her head once again. "It's okay," came out in a whisper as his lips moved against her hair.

* * *

"I didn't want him dead. If I wanted him dead for what he did to me… then how am I any better than him?"

She'd said that at some point. After the hospital, with the CT scans and the pain meds, the bandaging all over her body, the IV fluids for dehydration and the otherwise clean bill of health, patrol cars had taken her and Elliot separately back to the precinct so they would give their official statements. He had insisted he would only leave the hospital after she'd been released, he wanted to be there at all times, but they never got a chance to speak after riding together in the back of the ambulance. According to the officers, it was imperative that they gave their eyewitness statements immediately, so they were rushed into the patrol cars and into the precinct and into the interrogation rooms, and Olivia felt like there wasn't a single moment for her to just breathe.

Her captivity had ended, but she didn't feel free. She understood now how physically and mentally exhausted victims felt when, after their whole ordeal, instead of resting and nursing their wounds, they needed to sit all alone in a dark room, in an uncomfortable chair, talking to an officer or a detective they had never met who, empathetic as they might be, was clearly unhappy to be working in the middle of the night. Why couldn't they all go home and sleep and take care of all this in the morning? Would any of her wounds look any less evidently criminal? Would her words sound any less true, any more biased?

If anything, giving her statement now might taint it, Olivia thought; she wanted so badly to get away from there that she would say anything now. She might even say nothing had happened at all if that meant she could just leave, just be alone, take a long bath and lie in her bed, close her eyes and forget all about this for a minute. But she couldn't. She had to sit through endless questions, some of which didn't seem to make any sense, and as an interrogator herself, she figured she should be able to tell what the line of questioning was, but she couldn't. To her, it was all so simple: the crimes were all Eric's, and he had put an end to everything by putting a bullet through his head.

She didn't want him dead. Maybe she had wanted him dead at some point during the torturing sessions, maybe she had wanted to kill him herself, with her bare hands, but she didn't, really, want him dead, and she certainly wouldn't have wanted him to put an end to his life to spare hers. It placed a tremendous amount of guilt onto her shoulders that she didn't want to carry, but she felt like she had no choice.

By the end of the interview, even using the desk to support her arms as she tried to place the weight of her head on her hands, Olivia didn't feel like she could sustain the three tons of throbbing pain above her shoulders for much longer, but the worst was yet to come. Besides the regular statements, they had to speak to IAB, too. She should have known, she thought: this was a dirty cop they were talking about, of course they'd be involved at some point, but there was also the fact that this dirty cop had been shot to death and they needed to make sure that the way it had happened was thoroughly investigated and documented. Lieutenant Tucker interviewed her, the son of a bitch, and the first thing he did was try to pressure her into confessing she had killed Eric.

That's it: that's when she had said that thing about not wanting him dead. She'd said that to Tucker, and her eyes had welled up with tears, tears of guilt that the finger pulling the trigger hadn't been hers, but might as well have, relief that the god damned bullet they were having this over an hour-long conversation about had been far enough from her own head and Elliot's head and ended all the pain she'd been going through for she didn't even know how many days anymore, guilt for feeling relieved, and rage at this cold bastard who had gotten up from his warm bed this morning, taken his shower and put on his flawlessly pressed suit to come into the 1-6 to sit in front of her and accuse her of killing Eric, to try to make her confess Elliot, who had saved her life, had killed him instead.

When Tucker was done torturing her about Eric, he decided to question Elliot's actions during their captivity, claiming he knew her wounds hadn't all been inflicted by Eric and questioning Elliot's conduct; her voice failed and broke when she tried to scream in all her outrage that Tucker should go fuck himself and leave her and Elliot alone, and she worried about how Elliot would respond to those accusations, about whether he would lose his head and say or do something that gave Tucker the ammunition to screw him over – that was definitely another load of guilt she could not bear to carry.

So she was definitely worried when, after not having been allowed to watch Elliot's interview from outside, she eventually found him sitting on a bench in the locker room with bloody knuckles matching his blood-stained clothes.

"Elliot," she breathed, making him raise his head to look at her; he looked almost as exhausted as she felt. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he muttered, nodding towards his locker, already marred with several dents from previous rage attacks and which apparently had a brand new one.

Olivia sighed, relieved. "As long as it's not Tucker's face you hit, as much as he deserved it," she said. "What did you tell him?"

"The truth," Elliot replied dryly. "What else?"

"Did he try to pin Eric's death on you?" she asked, a little surprised at his almost nonchalance. "He tried to make me say you wanted him dead."

"And I did," he rasped, widening his eyes at her before looking away. "I wanted to kill him for what he did to you, for what he made me do to you."

"Elliot," Olivia pleaded, squatting down in front of him and taking his wounded hand in hers. "Tell me you didn't say that to Tucker."

Elliot swallowed, his eyes moving rapidly between hers, and Olivia knew that expression; he'd been so distraught during the interview that he probably didn't even remember what he'd said – that was what she feared. She squeezed his hand.

"You didn't anyway," she said reassuringly. "You tried to stop him from shooting himself, I told them about it."

"It was just a reflex," he muttered, looking away from her as if he was ashamed or something. "I should have helped him pull the trigger."

"You don't mean that," she countered impatiently, and when he insisted in avoiding her eyes, she used her free hand to touch his chin and direct his face towards hers. "You didn't have to kill him to prove you didn't mean to hurt me."

Elliot gazed at Olivia silently for a long time before looking away again, but she couldn't tell if she had relieved any of his guilt. She sighed with frustration as she stood up, but when she let go of his hand, he took hers, forcing her to stay put in front of him, and they stared at each other for another moment. Olivia was so tired that she didn't know what else to do or say; she didn't even know where they stood in their relationship, the boundaries between them too confusing after everything that had happened before and during her kidnapping.

But then he defined them again, and it was a harder blow than any of the physical ones he'd been forced to strike against her.

"I need to go home," were the words he said, and she immediately withdrew her hand from his, as if an eject button had been pushed. "Hey, I don't mean it like that," he amended immediately, but Olivia was already headed for the door and barely heard him.

"You don't have to explain anything to me," she said dismissively, turning into autopilot mode; at least she knew how to react to these boundaries. It was actually a relief. It really was. "Of course you need to go home, how many days have you been gone? Does Kathy even know…"

"Stop!" Elliot caught up with her and held her arm, but she kept her eyes on the door, unable to face him, unwilling to let him see the heartbreak in her eyes when she had no right to feel that way. "Kathy and I were supposed to talk the night you were taken," he explained, then paused for a moment. "About breaking up."

"Are you out of your mind?" Olivia snapped, yanking her arm free and turning to look at him with incredulity all over her face. "I'm not gonna let you ruin your life just because you're feeling guilty."

"What?" he barked back, visibly impatient. "Did you not hear what I said earlier?"

"I can't have that in my conscience," she countered, desperate, taking a step back from him and putting her hands together. She took a deep breath to try to hide the panic in her voice. "Elliot, we both need to go home and rest, _please _don't do anything stupid before you do that."

"Liv," he started to protest, but she was already rushing out, almost running.

"Please," she repeated.

Olivia ran away, hoping that the distance she put between her and Elliot would help relieve the guilt she felt. It was too much blood in her hands; the influence she might have had in Eric's decision to hurt his victims and in killing himself, the potential harm to Elliot's career depending on how IAB interpreted his actions, and now his marriage. It was too much damage connected to her, and it made her want to disappear. As she finally reached the street, hit on the face by the cold, biting wind, she wondered if the helplessness she felt now was similar to how Eric had last felt, how he'd felt the second he had decided to point the gun at his own head and pull the trigger.

* * *

"Basically, I think Olivia was a puzzle to him," Huang said. "And up until the very end, he couldn't figure her out."

"And you think that's why he didn't follow the M.O.?" Cragen asked. Or maybe it was Munch; Elliot wasn't paying close enough attention to tell.

He was half listening to Huang, Cragen, Munch and Fin wrapping up the case in the squadroom, half lost in thought, sitting in his chair with his feet on his desk and a lost stare. Way too many things were happening in his mind as he kept revisiting the talk with Kathy the night before, the moment he had parted ways with her, with his wedding ring, with the life he knew. She had been relieved to see him well, to know Olivia was okay. She had already packed a bag for him for the first few weeks and told Elizabeth and Dickie he was moving out. There wasn't even a question, it was a done deal. He had apologized for the way things had turned out, she had let him stay that night, and he'd slept restlessly on the couch.

"That and his feelings for her," the doc replied to the question. "I think that, even though he was never convinced she reciprocated his feelings, she made him see and feel things he didn't think he could anymore, she gave him… hope... when he had spent so much time convincing himself there was none. He tested her, he even drugged her, assuming that would make her reveal something she might be concealing, some hidden side of her, a bad side, but she never gave him enough reason to confirm his hypothesis, she just kept surprising him."

Except that there _was _a hidden side to Olivia, Elliot thought. It wasn't an evil side, far from that: it was a vulnerable side, a really fragile side, where she kept, even from herself, all those traumatic feelings about her father, her mother and her fear of abandonment, her panic of depending on someone other than herself. He'd had a couple of glimpses into that side of her, like on the night they'd shared together in the cribs and during her last conversation with Downey, when she'd confessed she was afraid of getting attached to someone she might lose later.

"All right but I don't get it," Fin said. "Why did he decide to kill himself in the end?"

"In his mind, it was his life or hers, and he ultimately chose hers. According to Liv and Elliot's statements, right before shooting himself, he gave her one last test, one last chance to show him she was evil or that she could love him back. What he couldn't reconcile was that she didn't choose either side; she didn't show an evil side, even held captive and tortured, but she couldn't love him back either. In his mind, he had finally found the person he'd been looking for his whole life, only to find out he couldn't have her. His response to that was to hurt her, kill her, but he couldn't do it either. He saw no other way out but taking his own life."

_Everybody's left me_, she had said, in such a weak voice, with tears coming from somewhere deep within, and Elliot hadn't been able to forget that statement ever since. Elliot remembered how she had told Downey she held on to him because he'd never left her, because he was there, and he couldn't help feeling guilty. Maybe he hadn't left her, but had he really been there for her the way she'd needed him to? The way she deserved? He had always been so focused on his responsibility towards Kathy and his kids that he had never realized he had a responsibility towards Olivia as well.

It wasn't a responsibility bound by blood or by a contract or convention, but one created purely from love, originated from the importance they had gained in each other's lives. It occurred to him that she had fewer people she could count on than his wife or any of his children; if he was the most important person in her life, how was that not his responsibility? He had always been so focused on how wrong it would be to get closer to her that he had never realized how wrong it would be to turn away from her. And even deeper than that realization was the realization that she was also the most important person in his life, certainly the one he wanted and felt free to tell everything to, the one he needed to be around to keep sane, whose smile he needed to see in order to know everything would be all right.

"There's no way of knowing," Huang was saying, "but I believe that Liv made him doubt his convictions, the same ones that had led him to hate women so much, to kidnap, torture and kill three victims. I believe that, in that final moment, he was confronted with the realization that maybe he had been wrong, forcing him to face the atrocities he had committed in the name of those beliefs. He had convinced himself that women were incapable of love, that this made them intrinsically evil, deserving of what he did to them, but Liv defied that theory. She kept showing him she was, indeed, capable of love, only not capable of loving _him_."

"A psychopath with feelings," Munch laughed.

"That's the thing," Huang countered, "he wasn't a psychopath. Psychopaths have no feelings, no guilt, no empathy. Downey had feelings, he was just trying so hard _not _to."

Just like Elliot had tried hard not to as well, for so long. Everything in his mind was telling him he was crazy to move out, that he was doing everything wrong, that he should be feeling guilty over the end of his marriage, but, for the first time, his feelings were speaking louder; he realized denying Olivia the love she deserved was just as wrong as leaving his family, and that staying married to Kathy just to keep the family together was not fair to her either. He slid his thumb along his ring finger, still not used to not bumping into the metal around it.

That's when Olivia walked in, making everyone go suddenly quiet, watching her walk to her desk, wearing a hoodie under the leather jacket that she removed and placed on the back of her chair. Elliot observed her, trying to make out how she felt after the way she'd walked away from him the day before, but he couldn't see much; she seemed a little numb, she looked tired, like she hadn't been able to sleep much. She looked up, staring at each of the silent faces as if questioning why they'd stopped talking.

"We weren't expecting you to come in today," Cragen explained softly. "I thought I told you to take a few days."

Olivia sighed audibly. "I appreciate everyone's concern," she said, her voice definitive, "but I really, _really _need things to go back to normal."

She sent Elliot a quick, meaningful look then, and he knew what she meant; she was asking him to _go back to normal_ around her, but he wondered if she had seen his suitcase in the locker room, his ringless hand – normal was a ship that had sailed long ago, and as much as he knew his marriage might not have lasted much longer anyway, he couldn't deny his expectations towards her, about finally being free to act on his feelings for her without restraint. He had wanted to rush to her place the minute he had walked out of the house, but he'd decided to wait; he wanted to give her the space to recover from what she'd been through, but he couldn't let her use that as a shield to protect herself from her fears, use it as an excuse to run away from him just because she was scared.

"What were you guys discussing?" she asked, sitting down and spinning in her chair towards the center of the room, where everyone but Elliot stood, and he reckoned she was probably eager to divert the attention being paid to her.

"We were just discussing the final details of the case," Fin said softly.

"Seems like a good time to talk forensics then," said Melinda Warner as she walked into the squadroom. "Here's my final report."

Cragen took the file and opened it. "And?" he asked, looking at the medical examiner instead of reading the report.

"Suicide, no doubt," Warner replied. "The angle is consistent with Downey pulling the trigger with his right hand, and gunshot residue on his hand and arm also shows he was the one holding the gun."

"That should get IAB off your backs," Cragen said, looking from Olivia to Elliot. "Thanks, Melinda, much appreciated."

Warner turned towards Olivia with a smile. "I'm glad you're back in one piece," she said affectionately, earning a small smile in response before leaving.

"Anything else, Dr. Huang?" the captain asked, his tone suggesting he wanted to quite literally close the case.

"I think that about does it," Huang said, smiling lightly. "I think we're all ready to move on from this one."

Cragen nodded at Huang, who turned to leave, stopping by Olivia's desk to give her a light squeeze on the shoulder and a smile.

"If you ever want to talk," he said, then turned to Elliot. "You both know where to find me."

"Thanks," Olivia said, with a smile that faded quickly as soon as the doc left, all the while carefully avoiding Elliot's stare.

When she turned back towards her desk and him, Elliot realized the captain had been standing right next to him, watching her too – and probably watching him as he watched her as well.

"Can we talk for a minute in my office?" Cragen said, and Elliot felt a chill running down his spine as he remembered the pictures of him and Olivia at the bar; he'd almost forgotten the captain would have to do something about them.

Without even answering, he just sighed and stood up, waiting for Olivia to follow him. He shook his head, wishing he'd had a chance to have a decent conversation with her before they had to have this chat with Cragen, a chat that might change the course of their careers for good, as if their lives weren't already in upheaval. He wished he'd at least had the chance to give her a heads up about the pictures before she had to see them for the first time in Cragen's hands. The captain entered the room last and closed the door.

"Please, have a seat," he said, and Elliot hated how careful he was trying to be; this was not going to be good.

Elliot and Olivia sat down next to each other, watching it as Cragen got behind his desk and took the manila folder from inside a drawer. Even though he wasn't surprised, Elliot still swallowed hard in anticipation, his sweaty hands turning into fists with tension. Without sitting down, the captain cleared his throat and unceremoniously opened the folder, revealing the low-resolution picture of them kissing. Elliot didn't look at Olivia, but he felt her whole body tensing up at the sight, and he knew that she knew what was coming.

This was it. This was the last nail in the coffin of everything Elliot had ever considered to be his life.


	22. Damage control

22 - DAMAGE CONTROL

"_How did you know Anna? I was lying here thinking about it, wondering. Was she your girlfriend?"_

"_What makes you think I would tell you about it?"_

"_Because you're a detective, and so am I. You know what it's like; I want to understand it. Is that how it all started?"_

"_What makes you think there even is a story?" _

"_There's always a story. You know that as well as I do. Or maybe it all started with Olivia. Your mother."_

"_So Freudian. You want to talk? Let's talk." _

"_Tell me about her. What was she like?"_

"_We're not here to talk about her."_

"_Of course we are. One of the first things you ever said to me was she had my name. You want to tell me things."_

"_Don't forget I'm a trained interrogator too. I know what you're trying to do."_

"_Humor me. Tell me anyway." _

"_Tell you what. Why don't we do this quid pro quo? You tell me what I want to know, and I'll tell you what you want to know."_

"_Sounds fair."_

"_It's a courtesy none of the others had. You should feel special."_

"_Not even Anna?"_

"_Didn't you want to hear about my mother?" _

"_I want to hear about them all."_

"_It's a long story."_

"_I've got time. Doesn't look like I'm going anywhere anytime soon."_

"_It's just our weekend away. A huge step in our relationship. Me first. Tell me about your parents."_

"_You know all about that; you researched me, stalked me."_

"_I want to hear it in your words." _

"_Well… My father raped my mother. A few weeks later she realized she was pregnant, and she decided to keep the baby. But she only told me about it when I got older, and when she did, a lot of things made sense."_

"_Like why she intrinsically hated you, no matter how much she wanted to love you."_

"_Like why she had become an alcoholic."_

"_It made you feel undeserving. A baby hated by its own mother… How can it grow up to believe it deserves to be loved? Made you want to be anything but that, anything but vulnerable to anything. Made you intrinsically afraid of men, afraid someone would hurt you like your mother had been hurt. Made you keep your distance, never let yourself really fall for someone."_

"_I never thought about it like that. It's a good analysis."_

"_Do you really believe your own lie? Do you really believe you can keep that distance, look at it from outside? You act like you've sorted it all out, but the truth is you only swept it under the rug, shoved it into a box. When someone opens it…"_

"_Okay, my turn now. Tell me about Olivia."_

"_There's not much to tell. She didn't hate me like your mother hated you, it was more like she didn't care enough to hate me. It bothered me for a long time."_

"_Not anymore?"_

"_She's dead now, and I don't hold a grudge. She walked away from my father and never looked back, taking me with her was never an option. Don't you think it's amazing how everyone has a problem with their mother or father? Or both, like you? I mean, everyone. I think that if it weren't for that, people wouldn't have personalities."_

"_It's a cycle. They grow up to be parents and damage their own children, and they will be damaged too, and in turn damage their own children."_

* * *

_A baby hated by its own mother… How can it grow up to believe it deserves to be loved?_ How indeed. And Eric knew what he was talking about. During the course of the almost twelve hours it had taken Olivia to be examined and treated at the hospital and afterwards interrogated at the precinct, the crime scene in the beach house had been processed, and the evidence had been analyzed and catalogued. It turned out that there were more journals there in addition to the ones found along with the photo wall and then later in Eric's apartment – he had kept the most personal ones, the ones in which he delved more deeply into his childhood and his parents, with him at all times. Olivia read all of the journals and, through them, in addition to gaining more perspective on the case and understanding Eric and his connection to each victim better, she was also able to figure out that Olivia Downey and Serena Benson had a lot in common.

Eric's memories were fuzzy, and he had the bias of a small child watching grown-up things he wasn't yet prepared to fully understand. While he'd had enough time to process those memories when he wrote those journal entries as an adult, the bias was still clear; he had clung to it on purpose, trying with all his might to defend his father and hold his mother responsible for everything, desperate as he was to understand that man who had been the only person he could count on in his life for a long time, to identify with him, to blame his mother's departure on her intrinsic foulness other than on anything that might have been understood as his father's fault – or _his_ fault.

But there were moments when it seemed that, on some level, he knew his father wasn't that much of an innocent, inadvertently letting more information come through in his writing. It didn't take very long for Olivia to figure out that Eric had quite possibly been a child of rape like her, except that his mother's attacker had been her own husband instead of a stranger.

His parents' relationship was abusive at best, it was clear from the fights he described, and the sexual encounters he had witnessed had all been forced, even though he would describe that as a normal thing, relaying statements from his father that this was their way of showing love for each other, that the struggle was actually passion, the rushed, disconnected explanations to a child caught peeking through cracked doors, unable to comprehend what he'd seen, requiring that reassurance, that _don't worry, mom and dad are just playing a game_. What were the chances that Eric had been the result of that same game years earlier?

Eventually, Olivia Downey had made it out; Eric didn't have a clear recollection of when and how, and he never really referred to the event of her departure directly, it was mostly contained between the lines, assumed and implied in the way he told every other story, described life, saw the world. He had woken up one day to find she was gone, and his father had never elaborated on it much further than _it's just you and me now, pal_ and _if I ever find this bitch, I'll kill her_. Those were clear statements of her guilt, or at least that was how they were read by a six-year-old, quite literal verdicts, for which the sentence was served by them poor men, left behind in the wake of that evil woman's path of destruction.

Surprisingly, reconnecting with Eric was the one thing that helped. After rushing out of the precinct, disturbed by Elliot's news about his marriage and the underlying guilt implicitly assigned to her, Olivia realized she didn't have anything on her – no house keys, no wallet, no ID, nothing. She couldn't even make it back into the precinct, she had to ask the guard to call Cragen's office and have the captain himself come down to authorize her to come back into the building. But instead of authorizing her entrance, the captain had come down with her stuff, which had been retrieved from Eric's rental car and shoved into evidence bags, and his car keys: he was driving her home and that was the end of the discussion.

The ride home was silent, and for the most part of it, Olivia just sat still in the passenger seat, holding on to the evidence bags and watching through the window as the sun went down projecting several beautiful hues of color through the cloudy sky on its way, but she had the impression Cragen wanted to talk to her about something; he didn't, though. If he found it so important that she went home and rested right away, whatever he had to say could probably wait until the next day, so she decided to worry about that later.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come up?" the captain offered again when the car came to a full stop, double parked in front of her building.

"I'm sure," she forced a closed-mouthed smile. "Plus, if I need anything, I can ask them," she nodded towards the patrol car that had been following them and was now parking across the street.

"Sorry, Liv," Cragen sighed. "It's just a precaution. Just this first night back, okay"

"Why? Downey's dead."

"Who said the detail is supposed to keep someone from getting in?" Cragen laughed. "I want them to make sure you don't get _out_."

Olivia smiled back at him. "Thanks for looking out for me, Captain."

"Olivia?" Cragen called before she could leave. "Try to get some rest. Take a few days, as long as you need."

She nodded and got out of the car, carrying the plastic bags, the evidence that all of this was really happening. She found her keys in one of them and quickly got past the main entrance door without looking back, seeing through her peripheral vision that Cragen waited until she was inside to drive away.

Olivia climbed the stairs and walked to her door, unable to shake the feeling that it all felt so weird, so surreal. She had doubted she would ever make it home again, thought that she might never recover from her injuries, that she could be killed, that this could be the end of the line for her. So it was weird when she walked into her apartment and it felt so incredibly familiar, even with the mess, the black stains everywhere CSU had left after dusting for prints, everything out of place, so many broken items, mirroring her, her body, what she looked like after what had happened to her. It was all so familiar, both the memories of what it had all been like before and what it all felt like after, and through it all, she was hit with the realization that she was alive, well and home.

She wasn't sure if the strongest emotion that took possession of her was the relief or if it was the grief over all the violence she had been subjected to, so well-translated visually into the complete chaos in her apartment. It was as though someone had walked into her, searched, exploited, broken, stained, and left, leaving the mess behind for her to deal with. Either way, she closed the door and stood there, just barely inside, immobile; it was a crime scene, it was a car crash, it was a tragedy, and she couldn't move. She only realized she was crying when her chest started heaving so heavily that it became hard to breathe.

As she let herself slide to the floor against the door, dropping the plastic bags, and as her muscles relaxed from the need to keep her standing upright, her voice found its way out through her throat, her cries now audible, and she decided not to do anything about it, just let go of control and let it all come out, whichever way it was supposed to. She allowed herself to cry, whatever the reason behind it. She was strong and she would come out stronger on the other side of all this, but right now, she just needed to let it out, and let it out she did, so loud that her throat hurt.

And then she decided it was too much too soon. She stood back up, supporting herself against the door, opened it and left the apartment without having really gotten in. When she reached the street, she was able to take a full deep breath for the first time, remembering to dry her tears as they stung on her face in contact with the cold air. She walked up to the patrol car, and while she would normally get annoyed by the protective detail, in this specific instance she found it useful, because she unceremoniously got into the backseat and asked the officers to drive her back to the 1-6, claiming there was something she needed to do urgently. They hesitated at first, but she convinced them, after all, what was safer than being at the precinct, surrounded by her brothers in blue?

Now bearing her ID and badge, she was able to enter the building without the need for summoning anyone, and there was no one to summon. Of course, everyone had worked nonstop while she was gone, Cragen had told them all to go home and left too. Which, again, was useful, as Olivia was sure he wouldn't have let her go through the evidence if he was there. Without anyone to oversee her actions, she only needed to request the stuff she needed to have it brought to her desk. She had seen those tokens Eric had kept from each of his victims, but she wanted the whole story. She had a feeling that if she fed this information to her rational side, her emotional understanding of what had happened would naturally follow.

_I need to go home_. Elliot's words kept coming back to her uninvited, followed by her own mind's voice, who had some very ugly things to say about it all. It was a harsh voice, providing the worst judgment, and purposefully ignoring or doubting other things he had also said, like _I love you_. Had that really happened? Her mind put everything in question. _Kathy and I were supposed to talk_. That talk could be happening at that very moment. Her mind could picture it, it wrote the whole script, acted out their parts, quite in character, and the ending of the movie was crystal clear to her.

Maybe he had really meant to break up his marriage at one point, certainly motivated by the guilt he must have felt for not having figured out in time that Eric was their perp all along, resulting in Olivia's kidnapping. Elliot was a proud man, who hated to admit he was wrong, but she knew him well enough to know that he would blame himself for this, and that, when he felt guilty, he was the most rigorous judge. Like a good Christian, he believed in the absolving powers of penitence and was great at prescribing them to himself, taking them like over-the-counter medication, palliating the headache of his sins with the effectiveness of a painkiller.

And there were several reasons for guilt this time. Guilt over her kidnapping, over having cheated on his wife, over torturing her, over not having heroically killed Eric to save her. To Olivia, it was clear that this crazy idea of breaking up his marriage was the penitence he had settled on assigning himself. It was his way to fix his mistakes, not only the betrayal of his vows to Kathy but also whatever he might feel like he owed to Olivia for the mistakes that had affected her. In that ambulance, through the relief of escaping the danger unscathed, retrieving her alive, he had felt like he owed her that, but she knew how things really worked, how _he _really worked. She knew it. Maybe better than he did.

Maybe he had arrived home with that intent, of kneeling on rice and taking the blame for everything, offering his body in self-flagellation, excommunicating himself from his family again to pay for everything he had done wrong. But she knew, Olivia knew it too well: reality would hit. He would enter the house and find his happy home, his safe haven, everything he knew. He would find his kids, his cute little baby named after him, his loving wife with open arms, relieved to see him back home unharmed, her fair skin not marred with any bruises, her soul equally immaculate, her mere presence the ultimate healing miracle, capable of putting everything back together, even the damage done by the heinous home-wrecking figure Olivia had always sworn she would never become. Reality would hit, and Elliot was never going to go through with this.

But the case. She was there to read the material on the case, to get some closure. She needed her dose of reality, too, she believed its healing powers as well. Reality was what kept things going, what moved you on when you couldn't move on for yourself. It was the sun that kept going down and coming up again every morning, the snow that fell regardless of anyone's readiness to withstand it, the clock that kept ticking life away at the same speed, unaware of anyone's need for time to go faster or slower. Reality was relentless and honest, it didn't sugarcoat anything, and Olivia needed to know that what had happened to her had been just as inevitably real as the rain that had just started pouring outside.

She read from the reports about how Eric had been stalking her for years, and about how he had stalked every single one of his victims. She saw the surveillance pictures, including the ones that had adorned the shrine dedicated exclusively to her across from his makeshift bed in his rented apartment – she saw that in crime scene photos too. She read through Angela Stevens' notes describing Eric's behavioral patterns and the complete remake of all the forensics in the case, now with all loose ends beautifully tied up, the M.O. consistent in the smallest details – until her. It was a relief to look at all of it as a detective, not a victim.

But then she found the journals, and that was what she had been hoping for all along; she had wanted to _hear it from him_. The way he had died had seemed to leave way too many questions unanswered, and she wanted to understand. She read everything, including the new journals from the beach house, and after a while, she could almost sympathize with Eric, understand how he had felt cheated on by life and everyone around him. At the end of the day, he was just a lonely person, just like her, but who had chosen to look at the cards he'd been dealt from a different perspective than the one she had chosen.

Maybe that was what he had ultimately been unable to face; he had been a child of rape, but refused to look at it from his mother's perspective, choosing to side with his father and reproduce the violence that had sent her away, that would send anybody away, while he was left there all alone, unable to understand why none of those women would stay for him. He had grown up to learn that rape was the love he had to give and that was how he knew how to show it, instead of believing his own instincts. He was capable of love and tenderness, Olivia had witnessed it herself when he had been pretending to be a good guy to gain her trust, but he didn't know that, he didn't know that his pretending could be the real way to show love and to earn love in return. He had been fooling himself all along, and he had died without knowing. Or maybe he had died _because _he had figured it out and been unable to face how wrong he'd been.

Maybe Olivia fooled herself about a lot of things, but she knew why she was better off alone and why she wanted to keep it that way. Unlike Eric, she didn't blame other people for her loneliness, she knew it was ultimately her own choice, whatever the hidden beliefs of unworthiness that motivated it were. She didn't know how to act differently, but she knew she was the one keeping everyone at arm's length. Maybe she didn't believe she was worthy of love, but she loved herself enough to protect herself from getting hurt and be fine with being in her own company – it was what she knew, what she was used to, and she had never let herself down.

Reading about herself in the journal entries, she eventually found an entry describing that night at the bar, when Elliot had kissed her for the first time, right before they caught the case; Eric had left Angela's body in the alley for them to find, then followed them there from the precinct. She realized this would have gotten what had happened between her and Elliot on the record, which meant that everyone in the squad knew – maybe that was what Cragen had wanted to talk to her about when he'd driven her home. She decided she would worry about that later; now, she allowed herself to think back to that night.

She remembered what it was like when her biggest worry concerning Elliot was that he had been finding excuses to stay away from home and using her as his alibi – which had radically changed when he had kissed her. It hadn't occurred to her that maybe he wasn't looking for excuses to be away from home, maybe he was looking for excuses to be around _her_; at least that was what Eric believed. Her mind quickly dismissed it, though; he had drunk too much, that was what had made him kiss her.

And then, parallel to that whole rationalization, she was invaded by the sensorial memories of that moment, his blue eyes looking down at her lips, then closing, his face approaching slowly, the hot air coming from his mouth against hers a second before they touched, the surprisingly soft touch of his lips, his tongue cold from the beer he'd just sipped.

"Liv?" A soft voice brought her crashing back to the present; it was Huang. He was standing close by, the light behind him projecting his silhouette onto her desk, where the journals lay scattered. "I didn't expect to find you here."

"I was…" she looked at all the material around her. "Trying to make sense of all this."

"You were reading those?" He asked, slowly walking closer.

"Yeah," she confirmed, gesturing towards the chair next to her desk.

Huang took her invitation to sit down. "I actually came for the new ones," he explained, then paused, watching her. When she raised her eyes at him inquisitively, he spoke again. "What are you doing?"

She sighed, exhausted. "I need for this not to be something that happened to me," she explained. "I can't be a victim, I just can't. I need to understand what happened from a cop's perspective."

"Do you feel like it detaches you from what you've been through?"

"I don't know." She paused, thinking about it. "But I think it helps me get back to reality."

Huang sighed, pressing his lips together into a small smile as he leaned closer, putting his hands together and interlacing his fingers. Eventually, he looked up at her again.

"Liv…" he started, carefully. "What happened is also reality… And it affects what reality is like from now on. You can't go back to before."

She looked down, biting her lip and nodding. "I know… I know."

Huang waited for her to look up at him again to speak. "Maybe you should go home now, digest everything you've read against everything that happened."

"I…" Olivia started to protest, but nothing else came out as a justification.

"Sooner or later you'll have to deal with the damage…" he said softly, almost whispering, and Olivia wondered if he was able to read her mind, if he could read that she didn't want to deal with the mess in her apartment, with the internal and external damage.

"What if…" her eyes started to water, but she didn't try to conceal it as her voice came out tearful, cracking. "What if I can't put the pieces back together?"

"It's okay to just acknowledge them for the time being," he assured her. "When you're ready, you'll put them back together."

Olivia smiled, nodding, taking a deep breath and wiping her tears. "You know what's funny?"

"What's that?" Huang asked with a small smile.

"Eric fit his own profile," she said, gathering the latest journals to give them to the doctor. "After Anna, he became a strong, independent man who didn't need women. Deep down, he was a lonely boy without a mother who wondered if anybody was ever going to be able to love him."

Huang's eyes moved as he took the information in, then rested on hers again as he nodded, looking fascinated. "Full circle," he said.

Full circle indeed, and Olivia felt like reaching that conclusion was what she had come to the precinct for, that it was what she needed, so she decided to go back home, sneaking out on her detail. Once she was inside the apartment, tears started rolling down despite her efforts to contain them, but this time, she didn't let them paralyze her. She went straight to the bathroom, tiptoeing around the broken pieces of the mirror on the floor to take a shower.

Then, she put on a comfortable pair of panties and a t-shirt, chose a bottle of wine as her ally and got down to business. She filled several trash bags with pieces that had once been lamps or vases or glasses, with unimportant papers that had been gone through, with everything that she saw in front of her, keeping her from her home, from her life. She filled a bucket with water and a cleaning product, soaking a washcloth in it and rubbing it against the dark stains of dust all over the walls and doors.

Soon, the apartment looked and felt like a home again. Maybe it was a lonely, empty home, but it was her home, and she was there, alive, breathing life into it. Putting the pieces slowly back together, one fine, fragile coat of glue at a time. After the cleaning was done, she opened all the windows to let the air come into the apartment, purify it, renew it, and went to bed. She was convinced she wasn't going to be able to sleep, but the physical exhaustion barely let her make it under the covers before she passed out. It was a dreamless sleep, and when she woke up, she had the impression she had just laid down.

Olivia remembered the captain's words, telling her to rest, but she needed to feel like life was still as much the same as possible, at least concerning the things she could control, so she got dressed to go to work, put on some light makeup and a lot of concealer to cover her bruises. She stared at her badge for a long time, it was as much a part of her as anything else, and it represented who she was much more than any photo ID. Eventually, she hooked it up to her belt, got her keys and the cell phone she'd left charging overnight after finding it dead in one of the plastic bags and left.

In the squadroom, the whole team was gathered, wrapping up the last details of the case; Melinda Warner arrived right after her, bringing her final report on Eric's death and ruling it as a suicide beyond a doubt. Cragen took that as a cue to put a lid on the case for good, leaving only the paperwork left to be done – and pulling her and Elliot for a quick talk. Olivia knew what it was going to be about. She had read Eric's journals, and he had mentioned her kiss with Elliot at the bar; that had to be it. It was the last loose end from the case left for them to deal with.

She had carefully avoided Elliot since she had arrived, keeping her eyes off him as much as possible even though she was acutely aware of his presence. She couldn't deny that sitting across from him was familiar in a good way, it gave her a sense of normalcy, a sense of security, it added another coat of glue to the broken pieces in the reassembly process. On the other hand, there was everything that had gone on between them, it was all up in the air and it made her anxious and uncomfortable. Maybe Cragen would make them deal with it now; maybe it was going to be quick and painless, a clean break, they'd be split up and that would make everything else so much easier. She would lose him as a source of security and familiarity, but it would help her move on, it would give her a good reason to, a nice path of how to.

Olivia stood up and walked behind Elliot, the physical proximity more powerful than she had anticipated, sending shivers down her spine, making her heart race. When he turned to take a seat, he bent down with his hand on the chair's arm and she felt her stomach plunge, not flutter, when she noticed he wasn't wearing his wedding ring. She held her breath and took the seat next to his.

Cragen addressed the issue head on, taking a file and opening it to them, but what Olivia didn't know was that Eric hadn't only written about that night, he had also taken pictures, which she was now looking at. It hit her hard, the image of them together, so close, her arms around his neck, his hands pulling her close to him, the eagerness in his expression, the surprise and receptiveness in hers. She could vividly feel his lips on hers again, the memories quickly escalating to the night in the cribs, his heat surrounding her, his hands touching her naked body, the feel of him inside her.

"I've been holding on to this," Cragen said, pulling her forcefully back and raising his eyes from the illegal image. "I decided to wait, see, I wanted to make sure this was crucial evidence before I did anything about it."

"Captain," Olivia started, but he told her to wait and listen with a simple movement of his hand.

"Everything happened so fast that I even forgot these were here," Cragen continued, then his mouth turned up in a crooked smile. "When Lieutenant Tucker showed up here, I was immensely glad these had never gone on the record, I mean, forget the kidnapping, the torture, the suicide; the rat squad would've had a field day with these, maybe they'd even recommend I get a promotion just for giving them this ammunition against you."

Olivia risked a quick, tentative look at Elliot, who was immobile beside her, looking at the captain, his brow furrowed. She looked for any signs that he knew where this was going, because the more she listened, the less she could predict it.

"So you're saying no one knows about the pictures?" Elliot asked, and she heard the anxiety in his voice.

"Yes," Cragen said, calm, assuming a relaxed stance, his hands in his pockets. "And I think it should stay that way. Downey mentions this in a journal entry, but no one seemed to read too much into it, and I don't think IAB has read it at all. I gotta tell you, if I hadn't seen the pictures, I would think Downey had made it all up in his head, the crazy son of a bitch."

"I don't understand…" Elliot started, but the captain continued like he hadn't heard him.

"Whatever this was," Cragen said, "as far as I'm concerned, it was a one-time thing that happened off-duty, in your own time, and I want to have absolutely nothing to do with it. Actually, I'd appreciate it if you took these from my hands and let me forget I ever saw them."

"But you did," Olivia pointed out.

"Are you going to split us up?" Elliot blurted out the question screaming in her mind; this was what they'd been called into this room to discuss after all, wasn't it?

But the captain didn't say yes. Instead, he took a deep breath.

"You haven't been objective about each other for a long time now, if you ever were," he said, clearly uncomfortable talking about this, but his overall stance was still calm. "I'm not going to pretend I didn't know that. You know I've considered splitting you up many times before. I _have _split you up. I've had shrinks evaluate if I should split you up for good, more than once. But time and time again, the answer I get is you two are better together than apart."

"So you're saying…" Olivia realized how anxious she was as well; she had been counting on the end of their partnership to help her stay away and move on from him, but she realized then that she really didn't want to lose him as a partner.

"Bottom line is… If I thought your subjectivity towards each other was a good enough reason to split you up, I would have done that a long time ago," Cragen reasoned. "What I'm saying is that I'm not aware of any inappropriate relationships between any of my detectives and, as far as I'm concerned, the squad should stay exactly as it is. Is that clear enough?"

Olivia involuntarily sighed with relief, and she heard Elliot do the same.

"Yes, captain," he said, standing up, but then another hand gesture from Cragen made him stop in his tracks.

"But let me make something very clear," the captain warned, looking from one of them to the other and back. "I trust you to come to me the minute you think this isn't going to work out anymore. Got it?"

For the first time since entering the room, Olivia and Elliot exchanged a look; for the first time in a while, it was a look of complicity, of agreement, and Olivia couldn't help acknowledging the relief of realizing he also didn't want to be split up. Maybe they could still fix this, move past what had happened and go back to being partners and friends.

"Got it," Elliot replied, taking the file the captain was holding out to him, and Olivia nodded her agreement.

They were already at the door when the captain stopped them again. "One last thing: you're both on leave, effective immediately. I don't want to see you here until you've both passed your mandatory psych evals, but do me a favor… Actually take some time off to _rest_, will ya?"

Olivia nodded, her head still spinning. As they were walking out, Elliot touched her arm lightly, making her jump like she'd been shocked.

"Can we talk?" he said softly, starting to direct her to walk with him; she didn't resist.

Olivia knew what he was going to say; he wasn't wearing his wedding ring, he was going to tell her about it, and as much as she wanted to avoid this subject, she figured it was best to deal with it sooner rather than later. They had just been given a chance to rekindle their partnership, and she took it as a sign that they could fix everything, make everything go back to normal, his marriage included. Things didn't have to blow up completely, there was a lot they could still salvage, and that gave her hope that she could still control the damage of this whole experience. Elliot led her into the locker room with an electric, soft touch on the small of her back and closed the door.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

Olivia sighed. "Good… Better," she said, pressing her lips together. "You?"

"Same," he nodded, with a small smile, then took a step towards her, making her automatically take a step backwards. "I wanted to come see you, but I didn't want to… crowd you."

Olivia didn't reply; she was having difficulty breathing. She looked deeply into his blue eyes, lost in them, and it was unbearable how she wanted to get close to him, touch him; it went against everything she was trying to keep in mind.

"I'm moving out," he said, just like she'd been expecting.

"Elliot…" she started, but he interrupted her.

"Kathy had talked about how we didn't love each other anymore," he explained, slowly restarting to walk towards her. "How she knew I've had feelings for you for years and how I was the only one who couldn't see it."

"Please…" she whispered, but it didn't seem to have any effect on him. She took another step back and hit the bench, giving him the advantage.

"I told her about what happened between us and that pretty much sealed the deal," he went on. "When I got there last night she had already packed a bag for me."

"It's not too late," Olivia protested. "She can still take you back. You have to tell her it was this case, how fucked up it was, how it…"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Elliot countered.

"You're making a mistake," she warned. "You can't make this decision in the heat of the moment, you both need some time, but we can still fix this."

"We?"

"Elliot," she raised her voice. "You heard the captain, he's right! This was a drunken, drug-induced mistake, a one-time thing. He's giving us a chance to correct this, he's not splitting us up over this, he understands it's not a big deal!"

"That's _not at all _what he said," he protested.

"And so will Kathy! The dust will settle and everything will go back to normal."

"Olivia…" he started to close the remaining distance between them, but she put a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.

"Please, Elliot," she shook her head. "Let's take this opportunity to undo everything that happened, move on from all this and go back to before!"

Elliot shook his head, looking disappointed. "Is that what you really want?" he asked in a low, faint voice.

It was, it was what she wanted, why couldn't she say yes? She just looked down, away from his eyes, pushing him lightly, but it was enough to make him back off.

"It's okay, Liv," he said, breaking contact with her and taking a few steps back. "I'm sorry, I know you need some time, I don't want to pressure you into anything."

Olivia breathed, relieved but also a bit disappointed. "Cragen wants us out of here," she started, preparing her escape plan.

"You're right, Cragen is keeping us together, let's just take the win," Elliot smiled. "One step at a time."

Olivia nodded, confused, and Elliot started pacing slowly.

"Look, I'm not expecting anything from you," he stopped walking when he seemed to have settled on what to say. "I was just telling you what's going on with me. All I want from you is that you don't shut me out. There's a lot you need to sort through, and I don't want you to be alone. Let me help you."

"I'm fine," she said, and he gave her a big smile that told her he knew she was lying; she bit her lip, looking away.

"Can I drive you home?" he asked softly, and she wanted nothing more than to say yes and let him take her, let him drive her, let him take control off her hands for a minute, but he started moving towards his locker and she saw the suitcase right next to it. "I'm going to check into a hotel or something later, don't worry," he rushed to clarify.

"Why don't you go ahead and do that first?" Olivia said, smiling again, a sudden idea making her face light up. "Get a room, get settled, and we'll talk later today, you can come over to my place. To help me… with whatever."

Elliot nodded, squinting, and Olivia knew he was assessing the veracity of her promise to let him help her. "I can still drive you…" he insisted.

"It's okay, I have an errand to run. Okay?" she started to rush out. "We'll talk later, I promise."

* * *

It was a bit colder outside than Olivia had predicted when she'd chosen her outfit this morning, a light hoodie and a leather jacket, but that wasn't the reason she held herself with both arms as she waited; she was trying to calm her breathing, slow the thrumming in her chest. She didn't hear any movement coming from the other side of the door, and she was considering ringing the doorbell again. When she had decided to do so, the door opened.

"Olivia," said Kathy, looking confused and maybe a little frustrated to see her.

"Can we talk?" she breathed, anxious. "I really need to talk to you."

Kathy nodded, never letting go of the door with the clear intent of closing it again as soon as possible. "It's okay Olivia, please," she said, starting to move the door. "There _really _is no need for you to explain anything…"

"I think you're making a huge mistake," she interrupted, stopping the door with her hand. "If you hear me out, I think you'll understand and reconsider."


	23. Choose heartbreak

23 - CHOOSE HEARTBREAK

She just kept rushing out, running away from him. He knew she was scared – and frankly, so was he. Did she think any of this wasn't as new to him as it was to her? Left behind in the locker room at the precinct long after Olivia had left in a hurry to get rid of him, Elliot considered everything she had said, her reasons for wanting things to go back to how they used to be.

_We both need to go home and rest, please don't do anything stupid before you do that_, she had pleaded, claiming he needed to think before making any decisions about his marriage, but she didn't know how made up Kathy's mind already was, how she had expected him with his stuff packed, how she never really sat down to have a conversation with him and instead just handed him his stuff and told him she would be filing for divorce, no tears, no fight, no accusations. Sadness, of course, over the end of something so important in her life but, if she'd had doubts about whether that was the right course of action that first time, like he knew she had, now she seemed absolutely certain and at peace with her decision.

Elliot wondered how he would have reacted if she had said she was willing to overlook his slip and give their marriage another chance. Would he have agreed to that? Would he have had the courage to turn it down? He hadn't been expecting that at all, of course; he knew she was already considering ending it even before she knew about his night with Olivia, but he had expected a long conversation, especially because she had arranged sleepovers at friends for both Elizabeth and Dickie, but she had acted like there was nothing to talk about, and he had accepted that. He hadn't prepared anything to say, he had expected her to dictate the talking points and planned to just respond to them, to follow her script, but she didn't want any explanations, she just wanted the formality, the official resolution, the verbal confirmation that it was over on both sides.

He had to admit it was easy to say it was over with her saying it first. If she hadn't, maybe he wouldn't be acting like this, pulling Olivia aside to notify her he was free to pursue something with her, pointing at his suitcase as though it was proof or guarantee of anything, acting like there was nothing to think about, nothing to decide. Maybe, if he had to be the one to take the initiative to move out, it wouldn't have been this quick, like ripping a band-aid. When he as much as looked at Olivia or thought of her, he had no doubt that she was what he wanted, but that didn't make walking away from his marriage any easier. Maybe if Kathy hadn't made her mind up, he would be avoiding the issue as well, maybe he would be running too. He couldn't judge Olivia. Not for being confused and certainly not for doubting whether he was really going to leave Kathy.

_It's not too late, she can still take you back._ Elliot doubted it. And even if she did, was that all he was supposed to expect from life? For Kathy to "take him back," for them to "try again," like they'd been doing since Eli had come along? Was that all he and Kathy deserved, just because they had kids together? Was growing up with parents trying so hard to stay together really the best thing for the baby, or for any of their other children, for that matter? If it had to be a decision, if it had to be an effort… How was that the best for anyone? And yet, if she were to actually say she was willing to take him back, he didn't know with absolute certainty that he wouldn't try yet again. It was too much to walk away from.

_You have to tell her it was this case, how fucked up it was. _And it had been, Kathy wouldn't be able to even begin to understand how much if he tried to explain. It had unveiled everything that had always been kept secret between him and Olivia, hidden even from themselves, it had forced them to deal with things they had avoided for so long, it had made all the best hidden shit hit the fan, thrown salt in every wound, magnified every tiny detail so carefully kept out of sight. But the truth was that all of it was already there. The case had certainly wreaked havoc, created absolute chaos in their lives, but only by changing the configuration of the pieces that had always been there in the first place.

_I'm not gonna let you ruin your life just because you're feeling guilty_, Olivia had also said. Could she be right? He was so sure about his feelings, but what if guilt had fueled them somehow, engorged them into something bigger than they actually were? Maybe the possibility of losing her had messed with his head even more than he realized. What the hell was he doing? He looked at the suitcase right next to his locker and it hit him hard: it was happening all over again: moving out, getting a place, missing his kids, negotiating custody, visits, weekends. Feeling guilty, feeling like he was walking away from his responsibility, abandoning his family.

But he did love Olivia. That was a fact, and if his marriage couldn't exist in the same reality where that fact was true and known to all, then it was over regardless of what he ever decided to do about his feelings for her or his wife. So yes, he definitely felt guilty over many things, but that was not the reason he had told Olivia he loved her. She had assumed he had said that on a whim in the back of the bus, in the immediate aftermath of everything that had happened and everything he had just been forced to do to her, out of guilt, but she was wrong.

And still, he had to admit that, even though he had acknowledged his feelings before that, it had been in that beach house that he had been forced to actually think about so many things, actually face all the truths that came from knowing he had those feelings, not only in the moments when he had been afraid he might lose her for good or the moments when he'd had to hurt her with his own words and hands, but also with the conversations Downey had led with both of them. Confronting all of that had taken him a step further from owning up to his feelings for Olivia, it had opened his eyes to the responsibility he had towards her, the responsibility of fulfilling needs she had never let anyone realize she had, most of all him.

But maybe those needs didn't exactly include what he was thinking, it occurred to him then. He had seen how she could be vulnerable, fragile, how he could have been there for her in a more meaningful way several times instead of letting her convince him she was fine, how she felt lonely sometimes and probably missed having a physical connection to someone close, someone she cared about and who cared about her too, but none of that necessarily meant that she was in love with him. Maybe he had read her wrong, and she didn't really feel the same way. Maybe what he had seen and felt from her was only her fragility and her inability, under extreme duress and the influence of drugs, to hide it from him any longer. Maybe it had been the curiosity over the physical attraction that had never been addressed, the deep connection between them and the lingering question of whether it might ever become something more than that.

Maybe it was like she had told Downey, Elliot considered; maybe her attachment to him had only stemmed from the fact that he had been the most dependable relationship in her life for quite a while. Maybe, in the light of day, a relationship with him wasn't what she wanted. Maybe, in real life, when the time came to commit, this was a step she wasn't ready or just wasn't really willing to take. Maybe their dependable, predictable partnership was so crucial to her that it needed to be kept exactly as it was; maybe she regretted having made love to him, maybe she wished this had never turned into a sexual thing at all. Maybe she was right and he was making a mistake; maybe he had rushed into this.

The only thing he knew for sure he had right now was this suitcase; Kathy was already lost, and maybe Olivia had never really been a tangible possibility. Could he be losing both Olivia and Kathy, then his kids, his family, his whole life as he knew it? He hadn't really stopped to think about this. If he had, he might have realized this wasn't an either-or situation, that getting divorced didn't necessarily mean he would start a relationship with Olivia. If neither of them wanted him, what was he supposed to do with himself? He had been there once, abandoned by the both of them, when Kathy had first filed for divorce and Olivia had gone undercover for the FBI. He didn't know if he could go through that again.

Elliot allowed himself to imagine for a moment what it would have been like if none of it had happened; if the case hadn't come along, if he hadn't kissed Olivia that first night, the first spark that had resulted in such an earth-shattering fire. How long would he have gone on like that, balancing Kathy and Olivia in his life without ever really consciously addressing his true feelings for either of them? Both he and Kathy had been wondering if they had done the right thing by getting back together, but would they ever have told each other about it? It was a comfortable life for the both of them, he doubted either of them would have taken the initiative to change anything about it – unless that supposedly accidental kiss had been his unconscious way of taking the initiative. In that case, maybe it would have all happened one way or another.

All of those thoughts kept swirling around in his head, like water circling the drain, coming from separate faucets but inevitably mixing together to end up in the same place. Confused as he got at times thinking about all of those variables, what it all came down to was that his marriage was over, and he was in love with Olivia – and willing to go for it. Whatever his or her doubts were, he knew he had to try. Now that he had confronted his feelings for her, there was no way to unsee what he'd seen. And she had seen something too, deep down he knew that. He wanted to give her space to figure out what she wanted, so he had let her run away from him, he hadn't forced his presence upon her, but he didn't want to leave her alone to deal with everything she had been through either, this was exactly the kind of thing she wasn't supposed to have to endure on her own.

When his phone started ringing, the screen lit up showing who was calling as well as the time, which he saw first, making him realize he had been sitting there in the locker room for over an hour, thinking and staring at his suitcase. Upon seeing the caller ID, he couldn't help the feeling of familiarity at the sight of those letters assembled in such a particular way: _Kathy_. Maybe she wanted to reconsider; could that be the reason she was calling? If so, what was he supposed to do? How was he going to react? Before the whole repertoire of conflicting thoughts restarted playing in his head, he picked up, determined to face whatever was on the other side.

* * *

"Take a seat," Kathy said dryly after asking Olivia if she wanted a drink and barely waiting for her refusal to sit down herself. She had agreed to let her in, but it looked like she wanted to speed up the visit as much as possible. "What is it you wanted to tell me?"

"I just think you're rushing into this," Olivia said hesitantly, unsure whether she should sit down or not; she didn't want to wear out her welcome, so she wanted to make it clear that all she intended was to deliver her message and be on her way. "I don't know what Elliot told you…"

"He told me everything," Kathy said, calm, staring at her from the couch where she sat, with her legs crossed and her hands together on top of her knee.

She motioned again for Olivia to sit down, and she did, reluctantly, feeling instantly awkward for not having sat down when she had first been told to. She couldn't stand to look at Kathy in the eye for very long either; she wished she would elaborate on what _everything _entailed, but she didn't, and she dared not ask her to.

"Well," Olivia said, clearing her throat. "It was a mistake, and I want you to know nothing's going to come of it. I'm really sorry, I was not myself, I was having a hard time dealing with the case and I was being dosed with amphetamines." As she spoke, she threw tentative looks at Kathy, which were always met with the same expression of apathy. "I don't mean to make excuses for myself, I just want you to know I would never have allowed anything to happen if…"

"It's okay, Olivia," Kathy shook her head, closing her eyes, signaling with her hand for her to stop talking. "You don't have to explain anything. To be honest, I don't give a shit about how or why it happened."

Olivia looked down, shaking her head, chastising herself; of course Kathy wouldn't want to hear about any details. "I'm sorry," she rushed to say. "Of course you don't, I just… You shouldn't leave him because of this… That's what I'm trying to say."

Kathy smiled, a sad smile, Olivia reckoned. "I'm not leaving him," she clarified. "This is mutual."

Olivia shook her head vehemently. "That's exactly my point, he doesn't know what he's doing," she argued. "He's feeling guilty, and confused, he's not thinking straight. Sooner or later he's going to realize this is a huge mistake..."

Kathy's chuckling interrupted Olivia; she was biting her lip and shaking her head when Olivia looked up at her, puzzled, having a hard time understanding what could be funny. "God, you're worse than him," she said, standing up.

"Kathy…" Olivia protested, looking up before she reluctantly stood up as well. It seemed like Kathy wanted to end the conversation right then and there, but Olivia couldn't let that happen; she needed to get through to her, open her eyes. "I can't even imagine how you must be feeling, and I'm _so _sorry," she went on. "I'm so sorry you got hurt like this, but you need to think about your kids. Your baby," she emphasized, with a half-smile. "Baby Eli, he needs you two together. You know that." she shook her head, emphatically, then nodded, putting her hands together and forcing an encouraging smile. Kathy didn't seem at all affected by her pleas, but she had to do something; this was the last thing she would ever have wanted to happen, and she was willing to do anything to fix it. "Everything's really confusing right now, and I'm on mandatory leave, but I had already decided: I'm going to request to be transferred," she promised. "I need a change anyway. I will _not _be a problem, I promise you, I'll be out of your lives in no time."

Olivia didn't realize tears were streaming down her face until one of them reached her trembling lips, the salty taste not acting as the best medicine for the lump in her throat. To her surprise, Kathy walked towards her, her expression for the first time giving any indication she might be starting to falter in her stonewalling act.

"You're right," she whispered. "It hurts. I thought it wouldn't hurt this much, because I'd made peace with the fact that my marriage was over and that it had been a mistake to try again, but it hurts like a bitch." Kathy's eyes started watering. "It hurts to know that I was right… All those years. That I wasn't just being paranoid."

"Kathy, nothing had ever happened…" Olivia guaranteed, but Kathy didn't let her finish.

"It doesn't make any difference!" she yelled, making Olivia jump. Then, she smiled as a tear fell down. She shook her head and lowered her voice again. "It doesn't change the fact that he's been in love with you for years, and I knew. It doesn't alleviate my guilt for being the reason he couldn't be happy with the person he actually wanted to be with while he was stuck with me. It doesn't make me feel any less angry at the fact that no matter how hard I try, I can't hate you. Or him. It doesn't change the fact that I pretended I didn't see it, that a part of me knew all along that he was lying to himself, just like you're doing right now."

"You don't understand…" was Olivia's weak, tearful, unconvincing protest.

"Please, stop!" Kathy demanded, determined, sniffing and drying her tears with her sleeve. "You're not going to patch up my marriage this time, so stop trying to hide behind it. It's over! If you want me to absolve you of your guilt over it, I'm sorry, I can't do that. If you want me to give you my blessing, sorry, can't do that either. It is what it is. You can get transferred and disappear, I don't care, it won't make any difference to me. If you want to continue in denial, knock yourself out, but you'll have to find another excuse. It's all I'm asking. If you think you owe me something, then do this for me: keep me out of this from now on."

"Please…" Olivia breathed, trying with all her might to come up with an argument, anything at all to say and keep everything from falling apart around her, but she couldn't, and as the seconds of silence went by, she became more and more desperate, the tears more profuse. She needed to say something, do something to fix this, but it was slipping from her fingers. She realized she was now sobbing noisily, and she tried with little success to muffle it by taking both hands to her face. Kathy looked down so as not to embarrass her by staring, but it did nothing to help her get a grip on her emotions.

"Come with me," Kathy said eventually, surprising Olivia again with another step in her direction and a hand on her forearm, even though her tone was still dry. "I want to show you something."

She led Olivia up the stairs, pulling lightly at her arm but not letting it go until they reached a door that was cracked open. Kathy pushed it lightly, so as not to make any sound, but she could see even from that small crack, the room invaded by sunlight coming from a window on the opposite wall, that the baby was wide awake, sitting in his crib.

"You're awake!" Kathy said, with the biggest smile, approaching the bed quickly and taking little Eli in her arms. After a few kisses and hugs, she walked back towards Olivia, who had stayed behind by the door frame, unmoving, her tears paused as well. "Do you remember Olivia?" she said, still smiling. "She was the first person to ever hold you."

The memory of that day came crashing – being with Kathy in the car, then the accident, how she'd had to help the firefighters and paramedics secure her before they could get her out of the car and into the ambulance, how the baby had been born inside the moving bus, the feeling of his small body against hers as she held him tight, doing her best to keep him warm as she shook in utter panic for his mother's life. A completely different child now, baby Eli had his father's blue eyes and his mother's blond hair, and the sight of him reignited Olivia's tears while she returned his smile, because she couldn't stop thinking she was the cause for this little baby having to grow up with divorced parents.

Eli moved his little body towards Olivia as though he wanted her to take him, and Kathy immediately offered him; Olivia had no choice but to hold out her arms and receive him.

"Maybe he _does _remember you," Kathy said with a hint of a smile, crossing her arms, her eyes on her son the whole time.

"Hi, little man," Olivia whispered, mesmerized, smiling as she cried, touching the baby's rosy cheek lightly with the back of her fingers. "You're so big!" She then turned to Kathy. "He's so big," she repeated, amazed, with tears rolling into her mouth, open in a big smile. "And so gorgeous."

"He is, isn't he?" Kathy now smiled too, caressing the baby's head as Olivia held him. "I wanted you to see him, take a good look at him."

Olivia's smile faded at the enigmatic statement. Why take a good look at him? To feel even guiltier for being the reason this little baby would no longer have his father living under the same roof as him? She obliged, though, and turned her head to look at the beautiful child in her arms; he was now fiddling with her necklace, seemingly fascinated by the golden glint. This was wrong, it was all wrong. She didn't belong here, getting in the middle of this family, ruining this little boy's childhood.

"Take a good look at him and tell me if you would regret having him if he were yours," Kathy said softly.

Olivia turned to her, completely confused by the question. "Of course not," she hesitantly replied, unsure of how she was supposed to react.

"So there you go," Kathy said with a simple smile, her eyes still on the baby. "No regrets. Maybe we should have gone through with the divorce the first time around, but we wouldn't have had him. Maybe I lost Elliot, but not before he gave me twenty happy years and five beautiful children." She paused, letting out a long sigh, then turned to look at Olivia when she spoke again. "We don't need to pretend we still love each other and stay together forever to know that our marriage worked. Things end, one way or another. There's loss and there's heartbreak, and it hurts like hell, but that is just a moment… A moment in a lifetime. I would do it all over again, a thousand times."

Olivia still couldn't understand. She stared blankly at Kathy, interrupted only by Eli's sudden whining; when he started to fuss, Kathy took him back in her arms, soothing him. When he calmed down, she looked at Olivia again, chuckling to herself.

"I can't believe I'm standing here giving you advice about my husband," she said, shaking her head. "But that's it, and I swear this is the last time I'll ever talk to you about this. Choose heartbreak, Olivia. Choose a moment of heartbreak over a lifetime regretting what could have been. Maybe then I won't have lost him in vain."

Kathy's voice broke during that last sentence, and she turned away from Olivia, walking away with the baby. She started taking clothes out of the dresser as if Olivia were already gone, and she didn't know if she was supposed to leave. A moment later, Kathy answered her unspoken question, her tone now back to that cold, resentful detachment.

"I need to change him, can you show yourself out?"

"Sure," Olivia said, hesitating for a moment. "Thank you," she breathed and turned to leave, unsure of what exactly she was thanking Kathy for.

* * *

_Why do you accept so little from him?_ Eric was asking that, whispering it in her ear as he held her hand, sitting on the floor in front of her. _You deserve someone who's entirely yours, who can reciprocate everything you have to give_. He had a sweet smile on his face as he said that, and he raised his free hand to touch her face, running it down along her jaw, but when he reached her throat, his hand wrapped around it in a tight grip, keeping the air from passing through as he pushed her to the floor and pinned her down with the rest of his body. _I'm going to fuck you again, and you're gonna love it_.

"No!" Olivia screamed voicelessly, as though her throat was really being squeezed, but as she took in her surroundings, realizing she was on her couch, in her living room, where she must have dozed off for a few minutes, she noticed the only hands around her neck were her own.

She breathed, relieved, and heard the doorbell; when she did, she realized she had been hearing it for a while during her dream, one of those sounds in a dream that only make sense when you wake up and hear them in the real-life context. It took her a minute to find her bearings and be able to stand up, but as she walked to the door to answer it, she already had a pretty good idea of who it was. She was wearing a thin nightgown with a thin robe over it, which she fixed carefully to cover more of her body, but she didn't intend to let him in or anything; she was going to tell him she was getting ready for bed, which wasn't a lie, even though night had just fallen.

"Elliot," Olivia said, unsurprised, opening the door and crossing her arms protectively around her chest.

"You didn't call," he said, calm but dry. "I waited."

She hadn't forgotten she had promised to call him, earlier at the precinct, but she had said that to get rid of him, and he knew that. "Sorry," she said, running her hand through her hair, still not completely dry from the shower she had taken. "I was busy and I ended up forgetting about it. Anyway, I'm really tired, I was just about to go to bed, so..."

"Busy with what?" he squinted, ignoring her attempt to blow him off. "Making house calls?"

"House calls…?" Olivia repeated faintly.

"Kathy called me," he explained, looking annoyed. "She asked me to tell you not to call or visit anymore."

Olivia sighed, ashamed, looking away from him, and when she did, she noticed his suitcase, the same one that had been in the locker room that morning; it was standing next to him in the hallway, right outside her door.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Elliot took a step towards her to force her eyes to focus on him again; he seemed very annoyed. "Are you that desperate to run away from me?"

"You're not thinking straight," Olivia explained, impatiently, nodding at the suitcase to illustrate. "Neither of you are. I was just trying to help, like I always do."

"Yeah, you always do," he smiled, still annoyed, angry even. "How many times have you hidden behind that excuse?"

Olivia scoffed, incredulous. "Excuse?" she repeated. "You're an ungrateful son of a bitch."

"Maybe, but you're a chicken shit," he countered. "And you tell me I'm the one who relies on safety nets! You'd rather fix my marriage a thousand times than face the fact that you might have feelings for me."

"Yes, it's _that _simple," she felt her voice and her body tremble with anger. "Screw you."

She moved to close the door, but Elliot easily stopped it with one clasped hand, taking another step towards her and staring her down with something that resembled a smile, his face so close that she could feel the air from his nose and mouth against her face.

"What is it?" he challenged. "I'm not good enough without the ring on my finger? Now that I'm here for you like you said I couldn't be?"

"I can't believe you just said that," she said through clenched teeth, unable to look up at him, her voice not louder than a whisper as she held back enraged tears.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, touching her chin with the back of his index and middle finger, coaxing her to look at him. "Help me understand what's going through your head."

They stared at each other for a moment before she replied. "I just think we should stay away from each other until you and Kathy figure things out," she explained, but it sounded like a plea. Her eyes fluttered closed as she went on. "I'm trying to do what's best for you."

"Forget that, the divorce is final," he said, lowering his voice in volume and pitch. It came out in a tone that vibrated directly into Olivia's body, racing her heart and shortening her breath. "So if you really care about what's best for me, then give me what I really want. What I really _need_."

His expression was so intense that it made her dizzy, confused, and for a moment she didn't know what to say or do. Even the smallest things, like breathing, required major effort, because it would have been so easy to just fall into him, just take a step and dive into his chest, let his arms break her fall, close her eyes and let him take charge of everything. But it was too risky. If she relinquished control like that, she didn't trust herself to be able to regain it if she needed to. _When_ she needed to.

"What about what _I _need?" she asked faintly, her eyes lingering on his lips as she tried to focus on controlling her voice.

"What _do _you need?" he retorted. "Talk to me. It's all I've been trying to find out."

Olivia swallowed hard, her throat suddenly so dry that her voice broke when she spoke.

"Right now, I need to be alone," she said, looking up into his eyes and struggling to keep her voice firm. "I need you to go."

"No," he said, not challengingly now, just matter-of-factly. "That's the only thing I won't do for you."

As if to make his point, he doubled back only far enough to get his suitcase, then came back decidedly, not really asking for permission, more like demanding it; she was left with no other option but to take a step back and let him finally walk into the apartment. He closed the door and parked the suitcase nearby.

"What about the hotel?" Olivia asked, aware of the obvious answer, but she was playing for time, because she didn't know how to fight this Elliot, this Elliot with a suitcase in her apartment, claiming he wouldn't leave.

"I'm staying here," he smiled; he seemed to be enjoying this, watching it as his assertion was making her uncomfortable. "I was going to stay at the precinct, but Cragen kicked us out of there, remember?" As if he'd read her mind, he paused, letting his smile fade, then explained further with a non-threatening step in her overall direction. "Look, I don't have a place to go tonight, and you could use some company. I wasn't comfortable knowing you were here all alone dealing with everything that happened. That's all, I swear."

Olivia tried to fight it, but his argument really did make her feel better about the whole thing, and in light of the nightmare she'd just woken up from, she figured he might be right about her need for company. Even though she still had every intention to stay as far away from him as possible, to be really honest, she knew she would feel better knowing he was close by. She looked up at him again, hesitantly, and didn't even try to say she was fine this time.

"Have you eaten?" she asked timidly instead.

Elliot visibly contained a surprised smile. "I'm not hungry," he said softly.

She pointed to the fridge behind her with her thumb. "There's some takeout leftovers if you do get hungry."

This time, he let his mouth turn upward into a big smile. "So I can stay?"

Olivia looked down, wrapping her arms carefully around herself again, and did not answer. She turned away, uncertain of what she should do or say next, but she settled for going into her bedroom, getting a change of sheets and taking it back to the living room. "You can take the couch," she said, deliberately avoiding his eyes. "Like I said, I'm going to bed. Good night."

* * *

Her eyes were closed, she didn't have the courage to watch it happening. The metal was cold against her forehead, but it could blow up at any moment, a single, quick moment that would end everything. But then it was gone, and her head seemed suddenly a thousand pounds lighter. She opened her eyes, confused, looking for the gun, but what she saw was Elliot trying to overpower Eric, both of them struggling, and then the gun went off, making them stand still for a moment before falling, and as she screamed, Olivia realized that the wall had been painted red with blood, and she no longer saw Eric anywhere; instead, she saw Elliot, lying on the floor, more blood around him, the red pool growing fast around his motionless body, his face becoming paler by the second.

_No! Elliot! _She was now already in tears, on her knees, taking him in her arms, holding him tight, as if that could stop the bleeding, could undo what had just happened; it was a mistake, he wasn't supposed to die like this, this was the one outcome she had never even considered, and now she didn't know what she was supposed to do with herself and with him. She had to clean him up, take him away from there, get him to a hospital; she looked for a radio to call it in, call a bus, for Christ's sake, hurry! Officer down!

"It's okay," he said, and it made her confused; how was he able to speak now all of a sudden? But then his arms were also around her, tight, squeezing her, and everything was gone from around her until she realized she was actually in her bedroom, in the dark, and Elliot was sitting on her bed, his body pretty much wrapped around hers, her head cradled in his hand, his fingers digging into the strands of her hair, caressing her scalp, soothing her. "It's okay," he kept saying, and as she regained consciousness, it turned into whispering. "You're safe, you're home. I'm here."

At first, she couldn't grasp the meaning of what he was saying, still too caught up in the terror, but slowly she was able to ground herself, focus on his arms around her, her breathing, the fact that she was, indeed, safe and home. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed for dear life.

"You were shot…" she said under her breath. "You were dying."

"It was just a bad dream," Elliot reassured her. "I'm right here."

A few moments went by, and Olivia felt it as her heartbeat slowed and her breathing went back to normal. Elliot continued to hold her, not giving any indication he intended to stop or leave, just there for her, caressing her hair, speaking softly into her ear, the hot air from his mouth against it.

It started as an attempt to look at him, see with her own eyes that he was fine, but before Olivia could realize what she was doing, she had already snaked one arm up his chest, letting her hand rest on his shoulder, while her other hand framed his face. He looked at her somewhat questioningly, but even then, he was showing patience, restraint, letting her stay in control. Not that she had much of it, because if she did, she wouldn't have leaned into him and kissed him on the lips, still crying slightly, but she was thankful that, up until the moment she brushed his lips with hers, he let her decide, he gave her the space to stop if she wanted. He let her decide she didn't want to stop.

His mouth was warm, like his whole body, ready to receive her, to protect her. His lips were gentle, following hers, and when she opened up to him, he took it as a sign that he could go a little further, and he did, darting his tongue into her mouth, slowly, his hands in the same rhythm as they started to move all over her body, reminding her she was naked but for a thin layer of satin, which felt like nothing under his fingers, but it didn't matter, because he was alive and right there with her; she ran her hands across his chest and back under his t-shirt, she suddenly needed him closer, and he complied.

Elliot broke the kiss for a moment to place soft kisses along her jaw, throat and shoulder, and as he approached the spaghetti strap of her nightgown, his forefinger wrapped around it, pulling slightly, enough to make it fall all the way to her elbow, exposing her left breast, a chill running down her spine, and she wasn't sure if it had been caused by the sudden coolness of nudity or the heat of his presence. She didn't have to decide. His hand was already cupping her breast, his thumb tracing the contours of her nipple, the movements alternating between sweet caressing and light teasing, and again, she didn't know which caused the long moan that she let out involuntarily.

He laid her back down on her pillow, holding her close with both arms, and started kissing her shoulder, her upper arm, her breasts, just kissing, so lovingly, reverently, and for a moment it was almost not sexual at all, it was something else, it was like being adored, being worshipped, and Olivia was suddenly hit with the power of that sensation, the impact of feeling loved like that, the danger in getting used to it, and her whole body paralyzed instantly; she shut down, like she was going into anaphylactic shock. Elliot stopped immediately, coming back up to look at her face, a bit alarmed, but not as much as she had imagined he would be; he could read her, and that was also really scary.

"Sorry," he whispered, cupping her face. "Too much too soon?"

He didn't wait for her to answer the question. Instead, he respectfully pulled the strap up her arm, covering her, and laid down next to her, using the arm that still rested under her back to bring her over to lay on his chest, his other arm instantly wrapping around her as well, his fingers restarting the relaxing massage on her scalp.

"Just go back to sleep," he said. "I got you."

She meant to ask him if he was going to stay there with her, hoping he would, but she waited for her breathing to go back to normal and ended up falling asleep without saying anything else.

* * *

Heartbreak. Olivia couldn't wrap her head around it as she recalled Kathy's advice. How was that the answer? She was afraid, of course, she didn't know what heartbreak was, and yet she knew it too well. She knew how heartbreaking it was to see her mother drink herself to death. She knew how heartbreaking it was to grow up without a father, to watch her classmates with their dads, hand in hand, safe, while she had to fend for herself ever since she could remember. She knew how heartbreaking it was to be in love with someone who's unavailable, someone who's already in love with someone else, to watch them leave every night, knowing they'll go home to someone, share a meal, a bathroom, a bed, a life.

She knew too well what it was like to have her heart broken, so why did it scare her so much to have her heart broken with this, in a possible relationship with Elliot? The only difference she could think of was that heartbreak wasn't the default in this case; in this case, she would dedicate herself to building something, she would invest her time, her hopes and dreams on it – that was the experience she didn't have. She had never really worked to build something that could break, she had always settled for not building anything at all. The result was the same, to end up with nothing, but there was no waste of time, of hopes and dreams, there was no work.

And yet, she had never thought about the gain. That was what Kathy had done for her that day, by taking her to see baby Eli. She had shown her that, even in loss, not everything was lost. That it was possible to build something that would last or at least have been worth the work once it ended. That was what she didn't know: the gain. The heartbreak was a given, but she had never factored in the gain that could also result from trying.

She had told Eric she was afraid of having something good for a while and then missing it forever, but she hadn't considered how _good _good could be. If she was so afraid of wasting time building something that might not last, what's to say about wasting time on building nothing at all? How was that better? If nothing lasts, and everything is lost, and everything ends, then what's the point of anything? By extension, if everybody dies, then why live at all? If she knew beforehand that she would die that day, would she just stay in bed and wait for it? If nothing was worth doing, trying, risking, why should she continue breathing?

She didn't want to die. She certainly wasn't brave enough to take her own life. But now she was confronting the fact that maybe she wasn't brave enough to live either, not if it meant she would have to put her life in someone else's hands, give herself to someone so completely like that. If she was afraid of everything, of taking any risks… Why even bother getting up in the morning? By doing nothing, she made sure nothing ever happened to her. But then, nothing ever happened to her.

Elliot. He wasn't scared. He had been brave enough to fall in love, get married, have children. Olivia was sure that he must be absolutely terrified of ever losing any of his children, and yet, would that make him wish they hadn't been born? She had him. She had told Eric: Elliot was the one who had never left her. One way or another, he was there for her, and she was absolutely terrified of losing him. She was terrified that he might die, that he might leave. But none of that made her wish she hadn't met him.

So heartbreak. That was the given. Her only choice in the matter was how to have her heart broken. She could choose heartbreak now or never knowing when it might come. Pretty much like death; was she supposed to kill herself now in order to avoid not knowing when death would come? Was control that important? So maybe she should choose heartbreak, the kind that you can't control, because at least this one gave her the possibility of having something of her own before it came, something she was actually afraid of losing. Maybe she should choose the death you can't control, at least this one gave her the possibility of living for a while.

She took a deep breath, a slow, conscious one, one she chose to take, wondering if she really could let go of the fear, if she was brave enough. She was staring at his face, his handsome features, that could so many times look like those of a little boy or a rabid, threatening alpha dog, ready to fight or rebel, ready to protect. Right now, he slept peacefully, his head on the pillow she had been sleeping on earlier, his shoulder serving as her own pillow, his arms tight around her, securing her close to his chest, his t-shirt and her nightgown the only barriers between them.

Whatever she had thought or believed or feared, the fact was that he was right there, sleeping on her bed, holding her, protecting her like she had always doubted he could ever manage to. She took her hand to his face, letting her fingers trace the square lines of his jaw, letting a couple of fingers lightly touch his lips, and wondered if she could simply let go of her fear and let herself taste this, let herself find out what it felt like to trust his love for her, to let herself savor it, let it fill her up, let it creep into her through every cell of her body, and her sudden physical need for him was so unbearable that it almost didn't matter. She was running her fingers through his hair and he started to move; she couldn't resist approaching him and kissing his cheek.

"Elliot," she heard herself whisper.

"Yeah?" he murmured before opening his eyes, a moment later, a bit alarmed, but he soon realized she was peaceful and gave her a slight smile as he blinked his eyes into wakefulness. "How long have you been up?" he asked.

"Not long," she purred, caressing him, letting her fingers trace the contours of his face, then run down his neck, trace the line of his collarbone through the thin layer of white cotton.

He patiently watched, waiting to see any signs of hesitation, but she gave him none. He wanted to ask her what was going through her mind now, but he was afraid to break the spell. She was staring at him, alternating between his eyes, his lips and the lines she was tracing with her fingers; they were now on his upper arm, a light-feathered touch, but enough to start sending chills through his body; as a reflex, he tightened his hold around her just as she was reaching his forearm around her back, nudging it down her side until his hand reached her uncovered hip, the skin there even smoother than the silk, and his fingers automatically curled, digging into her flesh.

"Liv," he said, between a question and a warning, but her hand was already on its way back up his arm to land on his shoulder, pulling him closer, her eyes dark with desire, helping ignite him even faster.

"It's okay," Olivia whispered reassuringly; this wasn't the time for him to question this. She needed him to respond in kind, to let her know he wanted this badly enough for it to have a chance.

She leaned into him, offering him the choice to close the last couple of inches, which he took, cupping the back of her head to bring her into him and kiss her, eagerly, digging his other hand deeper into the skin of her hip, intending to take it slow but unsure if he could, his control very fragile against his long-repressed need for her. Even though she had been the one to kiss him earlier, at a certain point she had shut down and not been able to go any further, so he didn't want to do anything that might scare her again, but his brain moved slower than his body, and when he realized it, his hand had already traveled from her hip up her back under her nightgown, his fingers kneading the flesh around her waist. He stilled his movements when he noticed he was moving too fast, but that only seemed to fuel her own need.

Olivia figured Elliot was hesitant because of how she had reacted to his touch earlier, so she decided to give him a clearer green light; whatever her fears and concerns might be, they had gone completely silent as her body had taken control and frozen her brain. With her hand on his shoulder for support, she raised her hips up off the mattress and moved her leg over his to straddle him, eliciting a gasp from him when their lower halves suddenly met as she sat flush against him, the thin layer of each of their underwear the only barrier between them, and she felt him growing immediately bigger and harder against her.

"Sorry," she chuckled against his mouth, and as he chuckled back, he held her down against him with a hand on each of her thighs, letting her know there was no hesitation from him, just the reassurance she needed to keep going.

She took her time kissing his face, his ear, his neck, then sat up, holding her hair back and staring at him, reading him, but a look was enough to gauge the hunger in his eyes, the anticipation as he licked his lips in response to her fingers curling around the hem of her nightgown. Slowly, watching for his every reaction, she lifted the silk, uncovering her body, and threw it over her head, leaning down slightly with her hands on his chest, offering herself to his scrutiny, visual and sensorial. He shook his head as his eyes traveled up and down in no hurry.

"Damn," he whispered. "You are…" his eyes lifted to hers for a moment. "Beautiful doesn't begin to cover it…"

Olivia stared at him with determination, and Elliot could see she knew, in that moment, just how breath-takingly gorgeous she looked; maybe she could see it reflected in his eyes, and he was glad to see that confidence when he knew there was so much vulnerability and fragility somewhere in the middle of all that. She covered his hands with hers, inviting them to move up from her thighs, and she led him all the way up, driving a hand to rest on the small of her back and bringing the other one to her stomach, then slowly up, but he smiled and lifted his palm, making it so that his fingers ran up between her breasts, brushing their inner sides lightly, at which she reacted with a large intake of air, closing her eyes.

She felt it as he pulled lightly at her necklace and opened her eyes again; he was holding the golden pendant between two fingers just like Elliot Stabler Jr. had done earlier that same day, those exact same blue eyes staring at it, and Olivia couldn't help but smile. She had felt so guilty looking at that baby, and now there she was again, doing what she had, especially back in that moment, regretted so badly, realizing Kathy had shown him to her to illustrate the exact opposite of regret. That beautiful baby was nothing but the personification of pure love, he could represent nothing bad, and however things had turned out, there was nothing bad, or dishonest, or evil here between her and Elliot; it was love too, maybe it was messy, but it was made from the same stuff.

"Fearlessness," Elliot read from the pendant, then looked up at Olivia; he saw it in her eyes how she was trying to be fearless, to overcome her hesitation, and realized how brave she was, how she had fooled him for so long, been his fortress, his main source of strength, her vulnerable side hidden this whole time. He raised his torso to sit up, wrapping his arms around her, their eyes connected the whole time, some deep emotion flashing through hers. "I love you," he promised, waiting until she nodded slightly to lean into her and kiss her again. He felt her muscles relaxing against him as she gave into it, quite literally delivering her body to him for him to tend to. "I do," he insisted as he trailed kisses down her throat, laying her down with one arm and wrapping her leg around him with the other.

Before moving forward, Elliot got rid of his t-shirt, which Olivia was already rolling up with her fingers. He leaned down to patiently kiss her whole torso, starting from her shoulders, reaching her breasts, now seizing them with his hands and mouth, letting his nose travel across her body, taking her scent in, running his tongue all over her, comparing the taste he discovered on each patch of skin, kissing, sucking, teasing, soothing, amazed that just this morning he was wondering if it had all been in his head and now, there he was, quite literally holding tangible, undeniable proof of the legitimate feelings between them.

He reached her navel, kissing and suckling the skin around it as he wrapped his fingers around her underwear and started pulling it down, lifting her legs from around him to remove it, feeling it as her body trembled with anticipation when he trailed kisses down her stomach, across her hip and the inner part of her thighs until he landed on his ultimate destination, starting slowly with light kisses on the outer part of her core, then switching to exploratory strokes of his tongue, all the way from her entrance to her clit, watching it as the area reddened and swelled in response and letting her moans guide him on how to proceed until he ultimately closed in around the engorged bud, increasing the intensity of the suckling motions, making her writhe beneath him, arching her hips towards him, and when he reckoned she was about to come, he stopped, kissing his way up until he found her lips again, feeling himself harden and twitch as he made her taste herself in his mouth.

Olivia reached out for him, with her hands around the hem of his boxers, trying to pull him out, but as much as he wanted her hands on him, right now was all about her, and he had left her on the brink of climax, her entrance pulsating for him, so he needed to comply with her body's wishes. Getting rid of his underwear, he expertly placed himself at her entrance and wrapped her legs around his hips for the best angle, sliding into her with a swift movement that made her gasp. He leaned into her as he gave her time to adjust, resting his head on the crook of her neck as he closed his eyes at the sensation of once again being surrounded by her warm, velvety walls, wrapping his arms around her, each cell of his skin craving contact with hers as he screamed her name in his head – _Olivia_, this was Olivia, and nothing felt more right in the world.

He reached deeper with each thrust, driving Olivia torturously close to the edge, and she felt like she might explode from the sensations. She had been so confused, so guilty, so overwhelmed, so hurt, but right now it was as if nothing mattered. Eric was a faint notion in her head, all the pain she had gone through felt healed, because the way Elliot made her feel loved was the antidote to all the doubt and rejection and aggression, self-inflicted included. He leaned down to kiss her breasts, lick and suck at her nipples, mumbling words of adoration, and she felt tears prickling from her closed eyes. She hoped he wouldn't see it, but of course he did; he slowed his movements and leaned down, his face hovering right above hers.

"Hey, what is it?" he asked, concern in his eyes, and Olivia cried harder, because she didn't want to answer.

When he hesitated, she held onto him tighter. "Don't stop," she whimpered, but she could see he was confused, wondering if he had done something to cause that reaction, which he had, but not in the way he was thinking. "Please…" she said, trying to get a hold of her tears and rocking herself against him to encourage him to go on.

"Liv… Talk to me," he pleaded himself, cupping her face with one of his hands, drying her tears with his thumb. "What's the matter?"

She shook her head, angry at herself for crying, cornered into answering, otherwise this was going to end right then and there. "I love you," she whispered, and she could tell he hadn't been expecting that at all as his face lit up, his mouth torn between curling with concern and smiling.

"Is that such a bad thing?" he asked innocently, slowly resuming his rocking motions against her and finally settling on smiling.

Olivia smiled through her tears. "Yes, it is."

That was the last coherent thing she could remember afterwards, because Elliot's confidence in what he was doing was immediately, completely restored, and with a few decisive thrusts, he drove her right back towards the edge and over it, in a climax that reached even the tips of her toes, and as he continued pumping into her relentlessly, she barely had time to acknowledge the over-sensitivity caused by her orgasm immediately after coming down from it, because she went right back up once again and even higher as she came undone again, her voice caught in her throat as she struggled to breathe, her arms and legs wrapping around him, desperate to hold onto that moment, hoping she would still feel like this in the morning, when he was no longer inside her, when she no longer felt this overwhelming sensation in her body that made doubt and guilt vanish, that outdid whatever argument her mind tried to concoct, that told her there was something bigger than everything else she consciously knew that included this, right here, him and her, together like this.


	24. Illusionist

24 - ILLUSIONIST

Her body went limp, she wouldn't have been able to stand up if her life depended on it, but that was fine, because Elliot was right there with her. Olivia felt it when he lay next to her, pulling her to rest on his chest, which still heaved, lifting her head along with it, the sounds of both heartbeats mixing up and competing with the sound of their labored breaths. She heard it as small, involuntary moans came out along with the air she exhaled as the waves of pleasure still ran across her body, like water rippling after being hit with a rock, countless rings until it settles down. She felt weightless, like nothing mattered, like there was no past and no future, like nothing could get to her in this peculiar state of consciousness.

She fell asleep before that feeling went away. It was a quiet sleep at first, for as long as she could hang on to the present, with the unfaltering calm in her body and the sensation of warmth and safety of Elliot's embrace. Eventually, however, everything faded into a blinding white light, then slowly darkened, painting the walls with black mold, the floor with grey concrete, turning the warmth of her bed into the coldness of the thin mattress, and she was back there again, covered in bruises, Eric cleaning and bandaging them.

_Falling for a married man? Your partner on the job? How many stop signs do you need in order to allow yourself to fall in love with someone? The only man you've ever really been yourself around, the person who knows you best in the world. Not even him is capable of loving you._

She felt the pain of those words again, the distinct certainty that it was much worse than the pain from the wounds all over her flesh. He just kept saying those things, and it was like having a selection of her worst unconscious fears and traumas displayed in front of her, her eyes forced to stay open, her ears ringing with the deafening sound of the most hurtful lies, the ugliest truths. She knew why he was doing that, she knew about his own pain, she had witnessed it as a victim and studied it as a cop, but it was as if she had been transported back to that moment again, just for the hell of it, as if her mind wanted her to know that life wasn't always sunshine and rainbows, that it wasn't always love and safety. Had she even believed it could be like that for her?

She wanted so badly to see Elliot again, to have him somehow prove it all wrong, or at the very least make it stop, but she remembered the part he'd had to play back there and realized that wasn't the Elliot that she wanted. The Elliot she needed was the one who had barged into her place with a suitcase, unwavering in his resolve to be there for her. But of course, that wasn't the Elliot she got now.

_I'm not here to take you home_, he said, cold, the words almost as painful as the punch he delivered next, knocking her to the floor.

This wasn't him. The real him had his arm around her, still tethering her to the present. But what present? Because she was lying on that cold floor, bleeding from that punch, and Elliot's arm had been the one to deliver it.

_I really didn't think he'd share you with me._

_Elliot_, she said, between a question and a plea, but either way, she didn't know what she was asking of him, and it was useless anyway. This wasn't her Elliot.

_While you're her main character… she's just an extra for you. Someone who's always there, exactly where you expect her to be. Practically a prop. Ready to take shit from you and still always be there, like nothing happened. Isn't that right? Tell her, Elliot. Tell her what she means to you._

Eric pulled her to her feet, but before she could ground herself enough to stand, Elliot slapped her in the face, the gold of his wedding ring making a point to leave a mark on her cheek. Then he pulled her by the hair so she would look at him, and she hated herself for letting him see her cry, for letting him know she was hurting because of him.

She felt the heat of his hand coming towards her cheek again, where he'd just hit her, and she flinched so violently that her whole body jerked; in the limited space, it wasn't enough to avoid his touch, now soothing, cupping her face softly, his thumb outlining her cheekbone where the cut had once been, and it was Eric bandaging her all over again, the added humiliation of having your assailant fix your wounds.

"Liv, wake up!" he was saying, shaking her lightly. "You're dreaming again."

Olivia looked around; they were in her bed, still naked, under the covers. Elliot was hovering above her, cupping her face, concern in his eyes. His hand moved to caress her hair lightly, and he stopped talking, just giving her time. She tried to find that clear line between real and fake Elliot, but it was all blurry.

"I'm… I'm fine," she mumbled, nodding her head as convincingly as she could, hoping to dissipate the fog that surrounded her, where dream and reality mixed.

She sat up, suddenly in need of some space. She hunched over, draping the covers around herself to hide her body. Not that he hadn't already seen it, that he hadn't been holding it all night, but she suddenly needed not to be so completely exposed to him, because it felt like he had just knocked her to the floor, and she couldn't be seen naked as she lay defeated, hurt, rejected. The skin's was the only nudity she could hide, but it was pretty much all she could do to protect herself.

"Can I get you anything?" he was asking, a foreign voice, all wrapped up in familiarity. "I'll get you some water."

He left the room and it gave her a chance to take a few deep breaths. When he came back, he gave her a glass of water and sat back down on the bed, even though she could see he was keeping a safe distance. When she finished drinking it all up at once, with Eric uninvitedly telling her to drink slowly in the back of her mind, Elliot took the glass from her and set it down on the nightstand. He sat, waiting, and the silence rang loud in Olivia's ears.

"I'm fine," she insisted, staring at her covered knees, detecting the anger in her own voice. "It's just bad dreams. They'll go away."

"You sure?" he challenged, his voice gravelly.

"I'm sure," she answered with as much conviction as she could feign while she tried to ask herself why. Why now? Her fingers trembled with rage.

"Then how come you can't look me in the eye?" Elliot rasped.

It took her a while, but Olivia gathered all her courage and looked up at him, his true, blue eyes. She had a glimpse at that safety he had made her feel earlier, but his expression was tortured, telling her he wasn't very confident about that himself. He softened his tone when he spoke again.

"I mean... you flinched." He didn't specify, but she knew very well what he was talking about.

"I was asleep," she defended herself, unable to hold his stare for long.

"You were saying _Elliot, stop_," he insisted.

"What do you want from me?" she raised her voice a little, desperate for him to drop it; he was torturing her yet again. "I just can't… I can't take this anymore. I can't take being such a mess anymore."

It was true. She had felt so safe with Elliot that she had believed the nightmares would stop; it was especially unsettling to have had a dream in which _he _was the torturer. Why now, that she was getting better? That she had finally allowed herself to start trusting him?

"Hey…" he approached a little, but still didn't touch her; he really seemed intent on keeping a minimal distance, and it bothered her, even though she couldn't close the distance herself, at least not right now. "You've just been through a lot," he continued. "You _will _get through this. You're the strongest person I know."

Olivia raised her eyes to look at him, his wide, beautiful eyes, where she'd seen so much love earlier. It was still there; this was the real him, she was starting to see it now. She wanted to forget Eric's version of him, and she really hoped he would forget it too. But he just wouldn't let it go.

"We never really talked about it," he said, lower now; maybe he wanted her to know he wasn't trying to pick a fight. "About what I had to say… and do."

"We don't need to talk about it," Olivia said; fight or no fight, she really wanted to forget it, not discuss it. It was enough to have seen it again in her dreams. "I know you didn't mean any of that, I'm over it."

"Clearly, you're not," he said, looking away and visibly disappointed.

It made Olivia feel so lonely. He had been able to read her so well earlier, why couldn't he see what she needed now? Why couldn't she communicate it to him? Her head was too heavy; she cradled it in her hands and never replied.

"Liv," Elliot whispered, and she knew he was just going to say whatever he needed to say, even if she wasn't ready to hear it. "I'm sorry. I would never have done or said any of that in any other circumstance. I was trying to buy us time… I was trying to keep you safe. As stupid as it may sound now..."

She was surprised to find that she felt reassured upon hearing that. She could hear the pain in his voice and she wanted to soothe him, but right now, she couldn't do much for him. Or for herself. "I know," she said, hoping her tone was final enough, knowing he wouldn't think so.

"I still need to say it… And I think you need to hear it."

Maybe he was right, but that was enough. "Why don't we just forget about all of it?" she risked, making an effort to look at him again.

"Can you?" he said, then looked away; now it seemed like he was the one who couldn't hold her gaze. "'Cause I can't. I'm looking at your face now… and I see the bruises, I see myself hurting you."

"I know you do," Olivia nodded with a sad half-smile.

She couldn't help but remember it had been in the back of the ambulance, staring at her injuries, that he had first told her that he loved her. The second time had been that night, after rescuing her from a bad dream. She couldn't take being so vulnerable anymore, but she wondered if he would even be there at all if she wasn't. The other night they'd spent together, she had been a mess as well, tricked by Eric into doubting her gut feeling, having a hard time to recognize herself in the haze of the drugs in her system. That time, too, she had wondered if Elliot had only stayed because of her fragility, unable to resist a damsel in distress – but that wasn't who she was. It wouldn't last forever.

The blue eyes she avoided now weren't the ones that belonged to Eric's evil version of Elliot, but the sad, guilty eyes who looked at her like a mistake he'd made, a problem he needed to fix. A damsel in distress. How could she tell the difference between that and love anyway? She had never really experienced love, Eric had made sure she confronted and admitted that.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he said, forcing her to look up and see he was narrowing his eyes at her and making her instantly regret having said that out loud.

She hesitated, but she knew she would have to finish. "You're trying… to make up for it. But you don't have to."

Elliot smiled and shook his head. "Unbelievable," he said. He was angry. "You still think it's guilt."

She wanted to apologize; she hated seeing him hurting like this, but she couldn't say anything else. She just looked down, feeling guilty for having had the dream, for having flinched, for having accused him of having slept with her out of guilt. After all, she had believed his love for her, she had seen it. She hadn't had any doubts. It had been like gaining access to a different level of understanding, a privileged perspective, an almost physical insight, that thoughts couldn't reach. Right now, however, she couldn't shake the feeling that, whatever it was, that superior form of herself she'd had a glimpse of just wasn't compatible with reality. Reality was wearing that certainty thin, asking all sorts of questions, and she didn't have any answers.

"If you only knew what my guilt really feels like…" she heard him whisper cryptically, apparently thinking out loud.

Olivia now looked at him; it was safe to do so because he was looking down, ashamed, guilty. She racked her brain looking for something to say to ease his mind, undo everything that had just happened, but it was useless. She wanted to go back to that place of peace she had been right before falling asleep – why couldn't she just go back there? It had seemed so simple, and now it felt completely out of reach.

"What happened in the dream?" Elliot asked softly, still avoiding her eyes and making it clear he wasn't about to let it go this time. He wanted to torture himself over this, torturing her by extension.

"I was back there again," she said, feeling like she had no other choice. "Just… revisiting what happened."

She hoped that was enough of a description for him, because he knew what she had dreamed about, it was clear from his reaction. He said nothing for several minutes; maybe he was revisiting it now, too.

"He played me," he eventually said. "I had read his journals and I tried to come up with a way to connect with him. He made me think he had believed me just so he could make me say you didn't mean anything to me, make me… hurt you. He just… played me."

"I know," Olivia said, but her mind couldn't help wandering off into that night, how she had known there was some truth to what he'd had to say to her back there.

Just like what she had been forced to say to Eric when she was trying to connect with him herself. There was some truth to everything that had been said in that room, and that was the essence of Eric's torture of her, of Elliot, and, she was more and more convinced, of himself. There were lies, and overstatements, and flat-out pretending, but all of those pieces had always been intricately interwoven by an invisible, underlying layer of truth, like the most elaborate illusionist trick; everyone knows it's a trick, but what makes it work, makes it seem like magic, is the truth, what happens right in front of the audience's eyes – and it's so hard not to believe the vision of something presented so realistically, when it's right there, in plain view.

"I think he played himself," she pondered out loud. "I think... in several moments, he believed it all. I think he really did."

"Maybe…" Elliot said, then made a long pause before speaking again. "Well, it doesn't matter. He's gone, and I couldn't care less what he believed. I care what _you_ believe."

He went silent, and Olivia knew he was waiting for her to look up at him, he wanted to measure it in her eyes; it was her polygraph test. If she lied, he would know. She granted his unspoken request and looked up.

"You gotta believe I would never willingly hurt you," he said, and Olivia saw the glint of tears threatening to form in his eyes.

"I do," she replied vehemently; that was something she had never doubted. There might be a million doubts in her head, but that wasn't one. She reinforced her answer. "I don't believe that, I _know _that."

As he nodded, relief on his face, Olivia suppressed an urge to hug him, because if she moved, she would either have to let go of the covers or make too much of an effort to stay sheltered under them, and it was suddenly equally awkward to be naked in front of him or to try to hide from him. So she stayed where she was, gripping the covers around her and hoping he wouldn't notice it, but of course he did. She watched him look down, seemingly now bothered by his own state of undress as he turned his body away from her, covering himself with the side of his thigh. Even though she didn't want him to see her either, she felt a pang of rejection at his sudden need for distance.

Olivia lay back down on the pillow, turning around to give him whatever privacy he needed. She felt it when he lay next to her, thankful that he had at least stayed in the room. She turned her head slightly towards him, only enough to see that he was lying on top of the covers, so as not to invade her space under them, not to intrude on her nudity, yet another layer of distance besides his thigh, still protectively positioned. She turned back away from him, feeling tears forming in her eyes.

"You all right?" she heard him ask softly, his head on the pillow next to hers, his voice sounding like it came from a mile away.

"Yeah," she rushed to reply, glad her voice didn't break. But then, she let a request escape unfiltered. "Don't leave, okay?"

He didn't reply at first, making Olivia doubt she had even said it out loud.

"Hey…" he said eventually, and she felt him approach her, a light touch on her arm. "I wasn't going to."

She sought out his hand with hers, and their fingers interlocked, a firm grip. "Good," she whispered, relieved.

Still holding hers, Elliot's hand came to rest on her covered stomach, his arm surrounding her waist and bringing the rest of their bodies closer together. She felt his head now resting on her pillow and his weight pulling at the covers right next to her while he seemed to make an effort to keep his arm as the only point of contact. She rolled backwards a little bit, until her back reached the planes of his chest. He tensed up at first, but then he got the message and welcomed the contact, tightening his grip around her and bringing his face closer to touch the back of her neck, even though he still kept his lower half out of bounds.

She felt it as he nuzzled his way into the crook of her neck and welcomed him with a contented sigh. Eventually, his warm breath against her skin lulled her back to sleep.

* * *

They were laughing, but she couldn't make them out; they seemed so distant. Their voices were close, but it was too dark – or too bright? – and she couldn't see much more than their silhouettes. But she was there, no doubt, the feel of the cold concrete through the thin layer of foam. That meant she also knew who they were, standing there so tall, together, opposite her, defeated, barely sitting up. They looked like old friends.

_If I had a dime for every time someone told me they didn't believe I'd never fucked her. I like knowing she's there, knowing I can easily make her mine if I want to. _

She was meant to be watching. They both wanted her to hear this.

_She's my partner, that's it. Nothing should have ever happened. I love my wife, Olivia knows that._

_I know_, she was saying, but it didn't look like they were paying attention to her, too caught up in their conversation. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

_Take a good look at him._ Her accusing voice, from the other side of the room. How had she gotten in there? Except that it was Olivia who had suddenly gone somewhere else: Queens. Their house. Their _home_. More guilt. Kathy was holding the baby, the sunlight from the window shining around her like a halo, an aura of sanctity, heartlessly violated by her.

_I love my wife, Olivia knows that._

Eric was here now too, whispering in her ear. _Do you really think he's going to leave his wife now?_

He had brought Elliot along with him, he was talking to him too. _She's your toy, whether you want to play with her or not. _

And Elliot just stood there, listening, agreeing. On Eric's side, not hers. _I like knowing she's there. I don't like having that certainty threatened._ But then he switched sides; he now stood next to Kathy, an arm circling her shoulder, protective, ensuring the safety of his family. As he should.

It all made sense now: Eric had brought Elliot home, where he belonged. To prove his point.

_It's a shame you never found anybody you wanted to have children with. Well, maybe you did, but maybe he already had children. Maybe even five of them_

Elliot and Kathy were silent, just watching Eric speak to her while she lay, hurt, abandoned. Guilty. Humiliated.

_How about this self-imposed loneliness? The fact that at the same time that you want a relationship, you don't? That you want a family, but you don't? Sure, you assume you want one, because you never had one… And it seems so perfect, so happy._

Perfect like the beautiful baby boy holding hands with his parents, his rosy cheeks, his father's eyes. _Twenty happy years and five beautiful children_, Kathy reminded her.

Eric gestured towards them. _He makes it look so easy, doesn't he?_

Olivia shut her eyes really tight, she couldn't take it anymore; everybody needed to shut up. _Now_. And when she opened her eyes again, she was met with silence. Blissful, peaceful silence. This time she had realized it was a dream, and when she had wanted badly enough to wake up, she had been able to. It didn't make any of the content less real, albeit transported to a surreal setting, but at least she had regained some control over her own mind, probably with Elliot's help. His arm was still around her, his breath still keeping her neck warm and, with sleep, he had relaxed in his struggle to establish boundaries. Their bodies were flush against each other, his leg between hers, contained only by the barricade of covers.

When she considered moving to free herself from his grasp, he started to stir, and reflexively pulled her tighter against him, murmuring something she couldn't understand. As he started writhing, restlessly, she realized he was the one dreaming now. With great effort, she fought his grip and turned to face him, which helped bring him closer to wakefulness.

"Elliot," she called firmly, but trying to sound soothing. "El, wake up."

"Liv," he mumbled, his eyes still closed, his arm searching for her as if it weren't wrapped around her. "You have to believe me…"

"I do," she promised, even not knowing what he was talking about; she put a hand on his shoulder and shook lightly. "You're dreaming," she warned.

His hand found the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him, and before Olivia realized, he was kissing her, passionately, hungrily, and she was caught so off guard that she barely had any time to start overthinking. All that awkwardness and hesitation was suddenly gone as he sifted through the covers to gain access to her body; when his hands started running across every inch of her, she could barely remember what that weirdness had felt like.

"This isn't guilt," he said, moving to kiss her neck, causing goosebumps to break all over her skin.

Olivia was confused; was he still dreaming? He quickly answered her question, shifting to prop himself up on his elbows and knees, trapping her, his eyes open, his expression alert, intense.

"It's not," he reinforced, his face very close to hers. "I know you can feel it," he whispered. "Then a minute later you get in your head and it all goes to hell, but I know that you can feel it…" he leaned in to kiss the crook of her neck, sending chills across her spine that reached her at her core. "...when I touch you."

_Does he make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up like this? _He knew no one else did.

"El…" she moaned, not sure if it was meant as a protest or as encouragement; he paid no mind either way.

"This isn't guilt," he was insisting as he trailed kisses along her shoulder, her throat. "I know you know."

_You know how I feel. You always knew, you had to._ He had given her that back there. The real Elliot had been there, too. And he was certainly here now.

He kissed her again, taking a second to frame her face with both hands. Next, he went full throttle again, his fingers trying to cover as much of her body in as little time as possible. He got rid of the covers completely and pulled her legs around him, like he was in a hurry, like they had no time, and when Olivia felt him ready against her entrance, she knew they didn't, that it was urgent, so she grabbed him by the hips, her nails sinking into his skin, helping him reach her sooner, and once he was inside her, there was no time to adjust, no time to savor it.

Time was of the essence, and as much as Olivia knew rationally that there was no need to rush, no imminent danger, she found herself encouraging him to move faster, harder, finding out she desperately needed the evidence he was in such haste to give her. The other times, they had been focused on connecting, exploring, touching; this time, they were both headed for the goal, and they couldn't get there fast enough. Olivia felt him hitting her hard, deep, each thrust taking her closer to the edge, and when it came, it was explosive, it painted colors inside her eyelids, shone lights across her skin, played sounds into her ears, and she heard her own voice ripped from inside her chest, calling his name, trying to tell him she knew.

He collapsed on top of her, mumbling unintelligible things, and she cradled him in her chest.

"I know," she promised. "I know." He looked up into her eyes, and she repeated it. "I know."

And she did. They were right back there again, at that place of connection where she did know. She didn't know yet how she was supposed to bring that into reality with all of its challenges, but that was a problem for later, because the beauty of this place was exactly that, in there, later didn't matter. She didn't know how long she would get to stay there this time, maybe until the next nightmare, maybe until the precise moment their bodies disconnected. She tried with all her might to hang on to it.

When their heartbeats and breaths were a little less erratic, he lay on his back and pulled her to lie on his arm, wrapping her up in him and in the covers, making her feel so safe that it scared her to death.

* * *

This was temporary, Olivia bargained with herself as she lay awake, staring at the strips of light and shadow the sun cast on the wall and realizing how stronger she felt as compared to the previous day. She hadn't had any nightmares since that last one she had managed to wake up from on her own, even though she was still trying to decipher the messages in it.

It didn't feel like it, but less than twenty-four hours had gone by since Elliot had showed up at her door, and she smiled now, thinking about how she hadn't even planned on letting him in, let alone sleep on the same bed after making love – twice –, but she knew now that his stay wouldn't have happened in any other way, just as much as she knew that she couldn't ask him to leave. She needed him, this night had been proof. She admitted that much to herself.

At least to help her get back on her feet after everything she'd been through, she negotiated. Her need to go back to work the very next day after being rescued had always been her need for _him_, not for routine, not for familiarity. And as much as she had thought or wished that the right thing for them was to go back to being just partners and friends, she knew that there was no going back there. Him and her was this now, as undefined and messy as it might be, and walking away from it would mean walking away from him completely. Right now, she couldn't do that. She didn't have the strength. She wondered if she ever would.

Not that she would want to. She was in love with him, there was no denying it to herself or anyone anymore – she had even confessed it to him. The problem was reality; she knew things weren't that simple out there. Strong as their feelings and their connection might be, there were other, much more down-to-earth things that would demand his attention and his presence. Too many people depended on him, and he wouldn't leave them just because of that transcending connection with her.

He still felt like he owed her for what he'd put her through, so fixing her was his priority now. While seeing the guilt in his eyes was unbearable, Olivia feared that it was the only thing keeping him there, that he would stay only for as long as he felt responsible for her, for putting her back together again. Maybe the stronger she got, the less responsible he would feel, allowing reality to slowly hit him with all the practical questions that heightened states of consciousness and deep, meaningful connections couldn't answer.

Olivia carefully freed herself from Elliot's grip; a disapproving grunt came out as feedback, but he never woke up; he was tired – and so was she, even though her mind had nudged her into waking up before her body would have wanted to. She took a quick shower that helped reactivate her body, even though her muscles felt heavy and begged for her to go back to bed. She considered it, but when she walked back into the bedroom, the bed was empty, making her ask herself for a second if she had dreamed _it all_ up.

It was that fragile. So much so that, in a matter of seconds, her mind was able to conjure dozens of scenarios to explain how he had never really been there at all or how he had waited for her to get into the shower to disappear, ashamed, guilty. Regretful. He was gone from her sight, and she found it too hard not to believe her eyes. The illusionist trick all over again, making her believe only what her eyes could – or could _not_ see. Like a little baby when his mother goes into the other room and he's certain she's gone for good.

_It was the most contradictory feeling: to at the same time trust and not trust someone so completely not to let her down. To know and not know that he would be there for her. She didn't want to count on it, she couldn't. If she did and he failed her, she wouldn't be able to take it. _

That was how she had felt the morning after their first night together, and that was exactly where she found herself again now. It was like a broken record, like a damaged tape: the movie would play until it reached a certain point and then stop, never coming to a close, the mystery never solved, the answers never found, the ending left to the imagination at best.

She noticed a part of her was relieved he was gone; if it had to end, she'd rather it ended now, sooner rather than later. In this quick moment of panic, she wanted to go back, pleading to undo her previous choice: the immediate heartache, the death she could control, that's what she wanted. She wanted to choose when to suffer, she wanted to know when to expect the blow, and she was so sorry, she had chosen wrong and she needed to go back, please.

It occurred to her to check if he had taken his suitcase with him – or even brought it at all in the first place –, so she took a few hasty strides towards the living room to find the couch still covered in the sheets she'd lent him, his suitcase lying open on the floor, his work clothes clumsily dropped on top of it. She let out the breath she'd been holding, relief washing over her. He had been there, she hadn't dreamed it up, it hadn't been a magic trick. And if he had left, at least he had left his stuff behind, a strong indicator that he'd be coming back. But then the wind got knocked out of her yet again.

"Liv?" she heard from behind her, and she spun so quickly towards the sound of his voice that she felt momentarily dizzy. Or maybe it was the sight of him, casually standing in her kitchen, in his t-shirt and boxers, a steaming mug in hand. Only then did her brain register the smell of coffee.

"El..." she breathed. "There you are."

He seemed a little embarrassed; she noticed he couldn't quite keep his eyes on hers for very long. "There's coffee," he mentioned casually, as if trying to remove the attention from him.

Like in that moment in the middle of the night, there was definitely something off about him and the way he was talking to her, sort of distant, and yet, he had made coffee, like he was used to being there, waking up naked there, operating the kitchen there. She was too overwhelmed to say anything. He set down his mug on the counter and walked towards her, slowly – hesitantly?

"Good morning," he said, with a small smile and looking full in her eyes for a second. Olivia noticed that he had stopped walking when he was standing a few feet away from her, as if there was a force field there that he couldn't trespass. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," she replied truthfully, trying to smile lightheartedly. "Much better."

_Do you really think he's going to leave his wife now?_ Eric. How could the specific tone and pitch of his voice still sound so clear in her mind? Even awake. It was almost as if he was right there with her, an invisible force driving her thoughts, contributing to the inner confusion, arguing the side that said the tape wasn't damaged, there simply was nothing after that, that no matter how many nights she and Elliot came to spend together, they would never be able to have anything more than that, that a relationship between them just wasn't in the cards, not even for a card trick.

It was as if she was preparing herself for the explosion, squinting with fear until hearing him say it was over, that he had finally realized he was making a mistake, that he was sorry, but he had a family to go back to. He was bound to realize that sooner or later. He had told her he loved her, and after that night, no words from her mind, in the ugliest of scenarios, could keep her from believing him, but she knew him well enough to know that his feelings represented only one, and not even the most important, among so many variables he needed to consider before making a decision of such magnitude.

Kathy had told her – and him – that it was over, but she, too, was bound to come to her senses and realize that what they had was way more important than an error in his judgment. They were parents, and they would always put their children first. Even if being together was no longer what they wanted, they would always base their decisions on whatever was best for their kids; Olivia wouldn't expect anything less from them, not after watching the ups and downs in their relationship from the front row for a decade.

"How are _you _feeling?" she asked cautiously.

"Good," he said, that smile on his face that he wore when he was trying to conceal bad news.

She nodded, a sense to flee the scene attacking her overwhelmingly and making her rush past him, respecting the force field's boundaries, and go to the kitchen with the excuse of getting the coffee he had offered her. Her hand shook as it wrapped around the pot's handle; it got worse as she felt him slowly approaching. She turned around with her coffee mug and saw it as he stopped by the counter, keeping it as a safe dividing line between them.

Every time he opened his mouth was a potential end to this. She wanted the explosion now, sooner, rather than later. She prayed to whatever God was up there for him not to say it.

"Liv…" he started, and her stomach dropped, this was it; he couldn't even wait for her to get some coffee in her system. "I think we should talk."


	25. Duality

25 - DUALITY

Things had gotten way out of hand. The truth was Elliot was still pretty confused himself, and maybe Olivia had been right to say they should stay away from each other for a while. Maybe he had rushed into this. He sat next to Kathy now, a heavy silence between them, the silence of people who have far too much going on in their heads and nothing to say. Since there was nothing he could do while they waited, he took the opportunity to review the past twenty-four hours, trying to make sense of them.

It had only been a few hours since he had left his house, the one he had visited, bought, furnished and was still paying for, the one he had filled with five kids and his whole life, the one he had believed to be his safe haven for so long, when his phone had rung, Kathy demanding, from the other side of the line, that he made sure Olivia didn't bother her again. He had gone from astonishment to straight-up anger; everything was already confusing enough, Olivia had no business meddling with the one thing that had already been decided.

Maybe it had been impulsive to go see her, but he'd felt the need to look her in the eye and ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, and why. After everything they'd been through, how could she still think there was any chance for them to go back to before? When he had decided to go see her, he had also decided he was done being patient. He had given her time and space, but what had she chosen to do with it? Hadn't she been the one to call him out on being a coward? Hadn't she accused him of not having the balls to own up to his feelings for her? What else had he been doing ever since that night in the cribs if not owning up to them?

And now, he was out of the house, leaving his whole life behind, admitting that he was in love with her. She had been so full of shit calling _him_ a coward; the first thing she did when he became available was to try and hide behind his marriage again. He was done giving her time and space if she was going to use it to find excuses to stay away from him. If his space had to be reduced to a damn suitcase, then she didn't get to demand any space either, especially when she was making it so clear that she didn't need it more than she needed someone by her side. That was the mindset he was in when he had knocked on her door.

But things had gotten out of hand. He hadn't planned much past the part where he would accuse her of running away from him and invade her space, demanding for her to let him stay – he hadn't counted on her letting him stay so easily, he hadn't counted on her being so fragile. He wasn't used to seeing Olivia in that position of vulnerability. As much as he liked to think he was strong and capable of protecting her, he knew that, emotionally, she had always been the strong one between the two of them. When he had arrived there and seen her like that, he'd known he needed to go slow, but controlling his impulses seemed impossible when it came to Olivia, especially when she woke up screaming his name, desperate, crying.

The next second, he was in her bed, with his hands all over her. And when she had been so relieved to find that he was fine instead of having been shot to death like in her dream that she had started kissing him, instead of pulling the brakes, he had gone full speed, scaring her, making her shut down. He felt guilty, like he had taken advantage of her vulnerability, but moments like that were very rare, when she was unable to keep her walls up, when she simply let him in, and he couldn't help himself, he just couldn't decline the invitation.

And then she had surprised him yet again, waking him up in a completely different mood, a moment of strength amidst the fragility, willing to pick it up where they'd left off in his episode of complete lack of self-control, leading his hands all over her body, telling him it was okay – telling him she _loved _him. It had blown him away. She had been lying there, holding him, tears coming out of her eyes, forced to admit it, she loved him. In that moment, it had seemed so simple. He loved her, and she loved him too. Their minds had finally caught up with their bodies, already fully aware of their bond and how far it extended, how deep it went.

But it was all too much, and it had gotten way out of hand. Maybe they should have stayed away from each other, because it was all too confusing. Things seemed so clear one moment, then the next they looked like the complete opposite. After falling asleep in his arms, so peaceful, with such an unmistakable expression of contentedness on her face, still letting out little moans of pleasure, she had woken up saying his name again – this time, asking him to stop hurting her. He was back to being her torturer, and everything he had thought he had figured out had fallen apart.

_Elliot, please. Elliot, stop!_ He couldn't get that out of his head, even now. She had told him she loved him, and he was pretty sure she had believed he loved her too, but then she had woken up mumbling his name in angst, asking him to stop, and he knew she was dreaming about that horrible night when he had tortured her under Eric Downey's instructions. He felt like an asshole, because he had been so focused on his feelings for her, the end of his marriage and how it all could represent a new beginning for them, together, that he had almost forgotten about how much he had hurt her at that beach house, about how it had affected her then and still affected her now.

And then it hit him like a sledgehammer. This was far more complicated for Olivia than just confronting feelings. Maybe that was what it had been like for him, to realize his marriage was over, to understand that he had been denying his true feelings for years, but he hadn't factored in everything that had happened during her captivity, it had conveniently slipped his mind that Downey had made _him_ hurt her too, and he had selfishly expected her to be fine with sleeping in her torturer's arms, to reconcile those two versions of his touch in her mind, her heart. Even in death, Downey was still trying to divide them, his ghost still lingering around them, whispering heartache directly into her brain from the depths of her subconscious, where Elliot could not go to bring her back once and for all. He hated the son of a bitch more than ever.

It hit him like a train, because he understood that maybe she had good enough reason to run away from him. Maybe she wasn't a coward, maybe she had just been hurt too badly by him and couldn't separate him from the pain he had caused her. She had told him that she loved him, but she had done so crying, saying it was a bad thing. Maybe she had really meant it. Maybe, in those moments when he had thought she was letting down her guard and letting him in, he shouldn't have taken the invitation at all.

Olivia had dreamt it, but he hadn't been able to keep from reliving it, too, such overwhelming guilt rising to the surface. How he had knocked her out, made her bleed. _I value our partnership, but that's it. She doesn't mean anything more than that to me._ The look in her eyes; he had watched her heart breaking. The silent tears glistening in her eyes. What told him that it had really hurt was not the fact that she had cried, but that she had tried to conceal it. It wasn't a show for Downey, she didn't want either of them to see her broken like that. And that had killed him. He had focused on the long run, on how it was going to be worth it in the end, it was what had gotten him through that endless night. But what had gotten _her _through it?

He had finally understood what she had been talking about all along, about him thinking he wanted to be with her out of some sense of obligation, motivated by guilt, and while she couldn't have been more wrong about his motivations, the truth was that confronting all this had made him realize that he did feel guilty, and she had no idea how much. Maybe he had been in denial himself, trying to forget those moments or clutching to naive beliefs about how their lovemaking could have healed her emotional wounds somehow, that it would have helped her process what he had done to her, understand on a deeper, physical level, that love was all his body would ever willingly mean to show her.

Since that ride in the ambulance, after everything, Elliot had been trying to tell her he hadn't meant any of what he'd had to do or say to her, and she kept insisting she knew that, but maybe he had been too quick to believe her and drop the matter altogether. He had told her back then and insisted after her nightmare that he had done what he needed to do in order to protect her, but he couldn't be sure that was the truth. There was just no way of knowing if his actions had really saved her life; nothing could prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that Downey would have killed her, nothing could prove that he wouldn't just have done the same thing and blown his head off instead of touching her.

He knew that obsessing over this would lead to nothing, but he just couldn't shake it off. After watching Olivia go through her ordeal again in her dreams, he just couldn't help but ask if it had all been worth it, and the more he thought about it, the guiltier he felt, and the less he believed he even had the right to be with her at all. She had thought he was touching her out of guilt, but what she couldn't imagine was that his guilt was now telling him he should never have been allowed to touch her again.

For all he knew, Downey had been the only one to benefit from his actions. After watching Elliot breaking Olivia's heart in so many ways, seemingly of his own volition, he got to walk up to her like someone who, in contrast, really cared about her. _Ten years taking crap from this son of a bitch? You think that's the best you can do? Why do you accept so little from him?_ Ever since Elliot had joined them, Downey hadn't laid a finger on her. In their little microcosm, in that room where only the three of them existed in the world, Elliot had been the person hurting Olivia, not Downey. This idea had become etched in his brain and colored his every thought since then: he hadn't protected her from being hurt, he had just hurt her himself.

"Elliot!" Kathy called, removing him abruptly from his thoughts and bringing him crashing back to that bright, white room, the uncomfortable chair he was sitting in; she stood up, impatient. "I said I'm going to go get myself some coffee, do you want anything?"

"I'm good, thanks," he muttered, running a hand over his face, a bit relieved for the interruption and for the momentary silence it set in his mind, even though he knew it wouldn't last.

He felt ashamed now as he recalled how he had woken Olivia up from his own violence by soothing her with those same hands, hoping to replace those memories but realizing he couldn't when she covered herself up, even after having slept with her naked body flush against his for most of the night. He looked at his hands now, and it occurred to him that for ten years he had never touched her in either way – not to love her and not to hurt her; he wondered if she'd be better off never having experienced neither, if the best wouldn't have been to have kept his hands completely off her as he had been able to for so long.

That had certainly been the conclusion he had reached right after her nightmare, right after watching her flinch away and hide from him: he had refrained from touching her, figuring she didn't need any more contradictions to process, more reminders of the pain he had caused her.

Not to mention the pain he had put her through from the beginning, when neither of them was locked up in a room, with no guns to his or her head. Downey's voice came back to him, so crystalline clear. _That is nothing compared to what you've done to her all these years. This push and pull game, never completely discouraging her, but never really letting her know if she had a chance or not, just feeding her mixed signals left and right. The responsible man, the family man, but who couldn't hide the way he looked at his partner._

It would have been so much easier if Downey had used lies, if he had resorted only to gratuitous violence, unfair accusations, but that was exactly what was so haunting about what he had put them through: he had used the truth. Maybe he had twisted it to his advantage, molded it to fit his purposes, but there was nothing there that hadn't been drawn from something real. It was true that he had never been able to hide the way he looked at Olivia, the inappropriate feelings that kept bubbling just below the surface, perfectly positioned to live in his mind's blind spot, never acknowledged by him, but what about everyone else? What about _her_?

Downey had sat with her, held her hand, soothed the pain Elliot had caused – in the last ten minutes, in the last ten years. _Why do you accept so little from him?_ And now he saw himself as what, a hero? For being there, in her bed, holding her naked body? Touching her like he had always secretly wished he could and telling himself he was doing it for her? Who did he think he was kidding? Downey had told him he was a selfish son of a bitch, just one of the most obvious truths in his portfolio. Who was he to enforce his presence, claim he knew what she needed? Claim _he_ was what she needed? After everything he had done to her, with or without Downey as an excuse?

Drowning in his guilt, he had wanted to leave, to disappear, begging her to forgive him for his presumptuousness, for his selfishness, for all the ways he had already hurt her, for the forceful, disrespectful way he had attempted to fix her from his own breaking. But then she had asked him not to go. She had welcomed his touch again and demanded more, she hadn't severed their connection. As he had held her close at her request until she fell asleep, he realized he had almost been the one to sever the ties, but she hadn't let him.

Scared and traumatized as she was, hiding under the covers, she had been brave enough to ask him to stay, pulled him by the hand to get him closer to her, been the one to fight for them when he had been just about to give up so easily, and he had been left with doubt again, because he didn't know if she was asking him to stay because that was actually something that would help her or just because she was used to only expecting that from him: his presence. _Everyone I've ever had… everyone's gone. Everyone but him. He stayed._

But what was the answer supposed to be then, he had wondered in the dark, long after she had fallen back to sleep, if he was a selfish bastard who didn't at all deserve her, and yet, she seemed to want him around? How was he supposed to reconcile being both good and bad for her at the same time? Should he stay, even when his presence hurt her? How could he leave when that meant abandoning her? That dream had changed everything from black to white, from one to zero, from bad to good, and he just couldn't pinpoint what tipped the scales, and to which side. He wondered if this was what was happening in her mind too, this constant battle of opposites, this inescapable duality. But he had settled on staying; in his guilt, he couldn't dream of denying her anything she claimed to want or need, in his longing, he was glad she was still giving him a chance.

He had fallen asleep somewhere in the midst of that confusion, torn between being consumed by guilt and inspired by the glimmer of hope she had given him. In his sleep, he tried over and over again to convince her he wasn't acting on his otherwise existing and well-placed guilt, that he was in fact touching her and holding her _despite_ that. Maybe it was just a lie his selfishness was trying to feed him and her, he considered, in order to conceal that he was just being the same old self-serving bastard he had always been, taking whatever he wanted from her without ever taking responsibility for how that made her feel. He'd spent the rest of the night having that argument with himself and with her in his subconscious, while some part of him was pleased that he was suffering too, that he was having bad dreams too, that he was being punished too, carrying a tiny part of his share in the burden.

Somehow, those dreams had bled into reality, and when Elliot had realized, he was kissing Olivia, still trying to tell her he wasn't there because of his guilt. She had seemed like she wanted to listen, she had encouraged him, and they had made love again, before he could stop himself, before he could even question if he still had any right to touch her like that. But she was so open to him, she had urged him to go through with it, and somehow, when they communicated like that, they believed each other and themselves, they were able to reach a common, unquestionable understanding – only to have it shattered minutes later by their overthinking minds.

The sound of the shower had woken him up again, a couple of hours later, and he had felt the need to put some distance between them, because it was all too much, it had been a very long night, and things had gotten way out of hand. In need of some space to think clearly, he had put on his t-shirt and boxers and gone to the kitchen with the excuse of finding something to eat, realizing that he was indeed feeling hungry. He wondered if stepping into the shower had been Olivia's way of putting some distance between them herself; if he was confused, how must _she _be feeling?

In the fridge, the only edible thing he had found were the leftovers Olivia had mentioned the night before, but Elliot's stomach had vehemently rejected the idea of having Chinese food for breakfast. He had been able to at least find some coffee powder and operate the coffee maker quite satisfactorily. Unsure of how he felt about everything and certainly lost as to what _her_ verdict might be, he hadn't quite known how to react or what to say when she had emerged in the living room a few minutes later.

Her hair was wet and messy, and he could smell it from where he stood. His mind was on overdrive, balancing contradictory theories and making desperate calculations, and yet his body was trying to tell him it was actually simple, that all he needed to do was walk up to her, hold her, kiss her, let their body language, in the most literal sense, speak louder than everything else. She was wearing a grey hoodie and pajama shorts, her long legs in plain view, and his fingers could recall exactly what they felt like, the sensorial memory so powerful that it made his otherwise unmanageable mind go blank for a second.

"Liv?" he called cautiously, since she didn't seem aware of his presence there.

Clearly startled, like she wasn't expecting to find anybody else in the apartment, she turned around quickly to look at him, taking a deep breath the next second, clear relief washing over her – and him; she'd had a positive reaction to seeing him, and that was a win, a positive result in his calculations.

She looked so beautiful, her face without any makeup on, like the night before, but there was something about the domesticity in her tangled hair dripping into her sweatshirt, her bare feet on the living room floor and the fact that she had been in his arms less than twenty minutes earlier, all of this bathed in the morning light, that took his breath away.

"El," she said. "There you are."

It sounded like she had been looking for him. Could she have thought that he would have left just like that, not even a word? _Don't leave, okay?_

"There's coffee," he announced, trying to sound casual, unsure of how he was supposed to approach her after everything that night had brought into question.

He felt like he was walking a tightrope, holding in each hand the weight of either side of the coin, either extreme of the spectrum: one side this confusing, overwhelming war of contradictory thoughts, a mind that screamed that he should stay the hell away from her, while the other was a physical instinct to touch her, an illogical notion that nothing from before mattered when they were together, that the answer was simpler than he could imagine.

Elliot decided to err on the side of caution, trying to assume a neutral stance to appease the opposites battling inside him; he walked in her direction, stopping when he had reached a safe distance. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better," she replied without hesitation and a smile. "Much better."

She had been particularly difficult to read then; maybe she couldn't read herself, just like he wouldn't have been able to explain how he felt if anyone asked. How was he supposed to measure where they were? After a night with so many highs and lows, during which they had been all over the map, from lovers to torturer and victim, from love declarations to pain and guilt? Now, in the morning, out of bed, they weren't even navigating on the same map from the night before, there wasn't a compass at hand or any signs to refer to.

Maybe Olivia was just as lost as him then. Maybe she couldn't read him any better than he could read her. Maybe neither of them could read themselves or each other, and maybe the answer wasn't in anything they could measure with reason, maybe it couldn't be read because it wasn't written, not in the code they were using to decrypt the message. Without the reassurance of reading into anything other than her verbal reply, Elliot decided to take her word for it. It was another win, and he needed it.

"How are _you _feeling?" she returned the question, and he realized maybe she had been worried about him too.

He felt instantly guilty. She was the one recovering from so many things and she was worried about _him_. "Good," he said, forcing a smile in hopes she wouldn't notice his guilt and be even more worried.

Olivia nodded quickly, looking away, and in what looked like an impulsive movement, she walked fast to the kitchen, like she needed more distance, more space. She opened the cabinet to get a mug for herself and poured some of the coffee he had just offered her. Even from a distance, he could see her hand was shaking, and he couldn't help but wonder if she had his torturer version on her mind right now.

Elliot walked cautiously towards the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and them from each other. He wanted to be there for her, but only if it represented something good for her, not if he was a constant reminder or a trigger for the memories of that night. He wondered if his presence had made her have those bad dreams, if she would have been better off alone, like she had told him when she had first answered the door.

"Liv…" he started, hesitantly, and he saw it as she froze in response. "I think we should talk."

He waited for her to say something, but she seemed to be waiting for him to clarify what exactly he wanted to talk about. She approached the counter from her side slowly, drinking from her coffee mug, which she held with both of her quivering hands.

"About the dreams," he added hesitantly but, to his surprise, she seemed relieved.

"What about them?" she still sounded anxious, though.

Elliot looked down; he didn't know exactly how to say this. He moved his head and his hands, trying to formulate it, trying to summarize so much worry, regret and guilt into one simple question. He finally looked up at her and sighed, defeated.

"I-I…" he stuttered, looking for the right words. "I just want to make sure you… You still feel comfortable around me."

She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow, looking puzzled, like that was nothing at all like what she had been expecting to hear. "Comfortable?" she repeated, like she didn't know the word's meaning.

"Yeah…" he looked all around him as he tried to explain. "Last night you had that dream about me… torturing you." He paused for a second, ashamed of the image he had just brought back into her head – if it had ever vanished at all in the first place. "And then you flinched at my touch, you covered yourself, you turned away from me. Like you were… afraid of me." He looked at her again now that he had finished talking, trying to assess her reaction.

Now she was the one who seemed to be searching for the right words; Elliot prepared himself for the worst. "I'm not afraid of you," she said eventually, sounding surprisingly convincing, even though she had needed too much preparation for such a vague statement; he could see she was going to elaborate. "I wasn't afraid last night either. I'm afraid of many things…" she looked away, leaving the content of her generalization up for interpretation. "But not of you," she looked intently at him, her voice sounded firm, all fragility gone for a second. "Never. You need to know that."

His eyes traveled back and forth between hers a few times before he nodded his acknowledgment, his acceptance of her answer. But he continued analyzing her even after that; she had always been very good at putting up a front for his benefit, he wouldn't expect her to change that now. He wondered how many times she had stood like this, in front of him, an unwavering exterior, while deep inside she was in shreds.

"Also, I think it was pretty clear I wasn't afraid earlier this morning," she added, blushing slightly and avoiding his eyes as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"About that," Elliot bit his lower lip. Even though she had indeed not seemed afraid when they had made love for the last time, earlier, he still felt like he needed to justify his actions. "I don't know what I… I was having a dream and then…"

Something seemed to shift in her, so much so that it interrupted him mid-sentence; she left her mug on the counter, next to where he had left his own, and walked around it to remove the obstacle between them. He kept from approaching, but didn't back away either.

"El, did it seem like I wasn't into it?" she said, quite serious, now looking deep into his eyes, changing focus between them.

Elliot remained in silence, just watching her closely. It hadn't seemed like she wasn't into it, but everything was too confusing and he needed to make sure anyway. He had already made enough whimsical decisions, and he had spent a long time during that night regretting the fact that he had slept with her once while she was in such a fragile state, only to do it _again _a few hours later. After a minute of them holding each other's stare, he felt a bit more confident in her reply. She had been the one to approach him now, after all, illustrating the opposite of flinching.

"I just want you to know that…" he started to explain. "I wasn't planning on sleeping with you when I came over last night. That's not why I came." He paused, and Olivia looked a bit... disappointed? "As much as I wanted to," he added for good measure.

She sighed, maybe with relief. Maybe she had thought he was going to say he wished nothing had happened, and while that might have been a possible interpretation of his guilt, it wasn't the most accurate representation of his feelings. He couldn't bring himself to actually regret making love to her, in spite of everything his guilt had to say, because during both times that night and that first time at the precinct he had been sure that nothing wrong was happening. The problem was always the aftermath, the consequences, the morning. Reality. But still.

"I know," she said, looking away from him. "I didn't mean for this to happen either, but…" she seemed to be trying to decide how to finish that sentence; she looked up with a hint of a smile, a sad smile. "No regrets."

He took a step towards her before filtering that decision; something in her expression told him she was the one who needed reassurance now. She didn't flinch.

"You're fragile now…" he said in a low voice. "You're recovering from… terrible things… I don't want to take advantage of that."

"You didn't," she stated assertively, looking at him and shaking her head. "You're helping me."

That last bit came out in a whisper, it sounded like a plea. _Don't leave, okay?_ He let out a long sigh that ended in a small smile, surprised to find he had been holding his breath while she spoke.

"It's all I ever meant to do," he said, almost whispering himself.

To his surprise, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his forearm, the electricity of her touch coursing through him, his body's initial reactions to her proximity a testament to his confidence in the reassurance she was giving him.

"I need you to do something for me," she said, looking down at her hand around his arm while he just waited; whatever she wanted, it was hers. She looked up, and he found it very difficult to contain the urge to kiss her as he stared back at her, hypnotized. "I need you to forget what happened at the beach house. It's what I'm trying to do."

Of course she wasn't going to ask for something easily done. "Liv," he started to protest, but she took another step in his direction and her other hand to his face, placing her index finger on his lips to keep him from saying anything else.

"I'm not gonna say what happened there didn't hurt," she explained, her voice calm. "But if we keep dwelling on it, it just… keeps hurting. So I need you to stop. Can you do that for me?"

Maybe dwelling on it was yet another selfish way of looking at all of it, a way to relieve his guilt by making himself suffer, while she was, as always, collateral damage to his own pain. She was asking him to forget it, and who was he to deny her anything she needed to recover?

"Yeah, I'll do my best," he promised against her finger, eliciting a nod and a small smile from her.

The urge to take her in his arms was almost unbearable now, and he was just about to reach for her when she abruptly removed her hands from him completely and walked away, back to where she had been standing, taking her coffee and drinking from it without looking at him. Elliot felt the need to break the sudden, awkward silence.

"I wanted to cook something, but there was absolutely nothing edible in your whole kitchen," he accused, cautiously playful.

Olivia smiled wholeheartedly, seemingly thankful for the neutral subject; her smile triggered his, and he was sure he was ogling her like an idiot.

"Give me a break, I was kidnapped," she joked back.

"We could go get some groceries," he suggested spontaneously, and she looked at him only for a split second with immediate panic in her eyes before darting them away again as if he was a blinding, hurtful light.

"Maybe," she mumbled, clearly caught off guard, and Elliot wondered what was so scary about groceries, chastising himself for always saying and doing the wrong thing.

"Or I could go if you prefer to stay in," he added, but her face made it clear that going out wasn't the problem. He gave her a few seconds, but she only used them to look down, trying to mask her uneasiness by covering her face with her mug. "What's the matter?" he asked, cautious but firm.

Once again, she looked up at him, quickly, then avoided his stare completely, biting her lip. "I'm just…" she started. "Not used to this."

"Shopping for groceries? Yeah, I know," he grinned, trying to keep it light. "It's obvious you don't know how to do it, but I can teach you."

She laughed at the joke, but she was still apprehensive. "No," she said, then let her smile fade. "I mean you… here… Saying things like that. Like it's normal. You and me, getting groceries."

Her honesty surprised him, he was so used to her always trying to conceal her feelings. It was refreshing to hear the real reason behind a panicked reaction.

"I know," he assured her, nodding with a smile. "It's all very new… To me too, but we'll get used to it."

"No, we won't!" she shot back, impatient, like that was a conversation they had already had a thousand times. Maybe they had, in her mind. "I don't want to get used to it."

It was Elliot's turn to walk around the counter to approach her, but he moved slowly. "Why?" he couldn't hide his disappointment; he had thought they were making progress.

"Because…" she breathed, facing away from him. He waited for her to complete her answer with an actual reason, mirroring her previous reply, but she wasn't getting around to it.

"What's wrong, what are you talking about?" he prodded, taking another step. "Why don't you want to get used to it? If you're not afraid of me… What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm just…" she put down her mug and finally faced him; she had a smile on her face and tears starting to glisten in her eyes. "I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop," she finished, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Elliot was getting impatient himself now. He opened his arms in confusion, shook his head, furrowed his brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

A tear escaped her eye, and she rushed to wipe it with the back of her hand. "It means we both know this is never gonna last," she said with the most heart-breaking smile, her voice choked with emotion.

Elliot smiled, frustrated and a bit angry. "I thought you said you believed me," he accused, raising his voice. "About the fact that I'm not here because I feel guilty." He softened his tone. "About how I feel."

She smiled through her tears, more profuse now. She wiped them, pursing her lips and cocking her head to the side like someone who's talking to a child, trying not to disappoint them.

"I believe you, El," she whispered, then took a deep breath as though to strengthen her voice; it didn't work very well. "I swear, I do believe you. I think it only makes everything worse."

"What the hell are you talking about? Come on!" he started pacing, he couldn't control his voice, filter out the frustration. "You're not making any sense."

Olivia looked up, taking another deep breath and wiping the tears off her face with both hands, as if ordering the crying to stop – this one worked out much better.

"We've been through this," she said, looking at him again. "You have a family, you have responsibilities…"

"Oh no, no, not that again!" he dropped his arms at his sides while shaking his head and pacing, all at the same time. He was almost yelling now. "We've talked about this, my marriage is over, can you just drop it?"

"It's over until Kathy changes her mind!" Olivia replied, now raising her own voice, exasperated. "Or would you be this certain about it if she hadn't packed your bag and thrown you out? What if she comes to her senses and tells you she wants you to come home? How are you gonna say no to that? How are you gonna turn down the chance to be close to your kids?"

He didn't exactly have that specific answer; he rolled his eyes and took his hands to his face, impatiently. He didn't want to risk saying the wrong thing again, so he settled for silence.

Olivia approached him, now challenging, angry even. "Tell me you wouldn't go running if she called and said she wanted you back."

She was asking the hardest questions, and his inability to come up with direct answers only proved her point, but she was wrong, she was dead wrong. How could he convince her? He felt like a suspect being pressured into confessing.

"Stop it, I'm trying here!" he yelled, startling her into silence. He waited for himself to calm down too, only continuing when he was able to lower his voice and speak more softly. "Look, I don't have all the answers. I don't know if anyone ever does." It came out as a plea. Maybe it really was. "But I love you."

Olivia closed her eyes and shook her head, taking a few steps back. "Love is the easy part, El," she eventually replied, her chin quivering even though she didn't let any more tears roll down.

"Easy?" he repeated with outrage. "You said it yourself. I'm leaving so much behind, and I'm doing it because I love you. That must count for something."

"It does," she said, smiling and biting her trembling lip. A tear finally rolled down, slowly, as though trying to go unnoticed. "But I know you." Her voice was hardly audible.

"What does that even mean?" he yelled, exasperated himself now.

She bit her lip again before replying, and as she spoke, she approached him, her voice low and gravelly. "It means that whatever you think you want right now, you'll never do it if it's not the right thing to do."

He had been speechless after that. He hadn't been able to say anything, at best he had stuttered, with shock, outrage, confusion. But he hadn't known it was about to get even worse. Out of the blue, his phone had started ringing from the living room – more precisely from inside his suit jacket's pocket. Olivia had laughed.

"Fifty bucks says that's Kathy," she said, letting her smile fade with such hopelessness in her eyes that it broke Elliot's heart.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, unmoving from where he stood in the kitchen, facing her. "I'm not picking up whether it's her or not."

"What if it's an emergency?" she challenged.

"It's not," he risked. "Is that what you need? For me to keep proving to you that I want to be with you? That you're important to me?"

She just shook her head, pursing her lips and looking away from him, like this was a losing battle, like she was giving up, like he was a lost cause. In the meantime, the phone just kept ringing, and it was killing Elliot, because he was thinking it could be something about one of his kids. He needed to make his point, so he crossed his arms and stared at her, his chin up, impatient, competitive, while the ringtone churned his insides.

"What do you think that even proves, Elliot?" Olivia asked just as the phone stopped for a while.

"Whatever you need," he replied. "You obviously think the phone ringing means something."

Her only reply was to look down, shaking her head slightly. Elliot huffed, letting his impatience flow out along with the air, and waited, standing there in silence, until she looked up at him again, the fear in her eyes so clear he wondered if she was even still trying to hide it at this point. Maybe she had successfully convinced him she wasn't afraid of him, physically, but she was obviously terrified of him, terrified of how he might hurt her without realizing it, without meaning to. Maybe she had been hurt that way too many times and he had never really even suspected it; maybe she was speaking from experience, from something that had always escaped his perception, something that was, again, escaping him now.

And yet, there he was, in her apartment, trying so hard to convince her he _wanted _to be there, convince her that this was enough, that there was nothing else to talk about, that he didn't really feel like he had any other choice anymore, that he wasn't sure he even knew how to walk away at this point. Why couldn't she just believe him? Just be there with him, trusting this new thing where he was actually letting his true, inner feelings come out and rule him, just be there next to him and hold his hand through that leap of faith, take it with him?

He approached her slowly, shaking his head. "Why is it so hard for you to trust me?" he asked, his voice weak.

Olivia took both of her hands to her face, shaking her head as if he had gotten it all wrong. "You don't understand, it's exactly the opposite. I can't _not _trust you," she emphasized. "And I'm struggling with this, because you just keep making me feel so safe, and it's too hard for me not to trust it, not to get used to it. Trusting you is second nature to me, but this… I can't get used to it."

"Why the hell not?" he pressed, impatient, just when his phone started ringing again.

He saw it as she turned her head towards the sound, then looked at him, and that was her answer. That was why she couldn't get used to it. Whatever that phone ringing meant to her.

"Please," she said, her voice firm but desperate. "Pick up the damn phone!"

Elliot simply shook his head. The phone went silent, then, a few seconds later, it chimed a sound that meant there was a new voicemail, and it took everything in him not to go get the phone and listen to it. Could that be what she meant? That even though he was trying so hard to ignore the phone, it was killing him? She wasn't wrong; if his children needed him, he would go. He did come with five children in the package, and she would always need to share him with them, they would always be a priority for him. Maybe that just wasn't good enough for her.

He figured whatever he said or did right now might be something he was going to regret later, so he decided to walk away from her and the phone, to take a break from it all, give both of them some room to think. "I'm gonna take a shower," he announced, already walking past her.

He didn't wait for a reply, and she stayed back, silent, while his phone started ringing again, and he closed the bathroom door to keep from hearing it. What if it _was _Kathy? What if it was something about the kids? He got rid of his clothes and stepped under the water, not bothering to wait for it to warm up; the coldness was distracting, and that was a good thing.

A second later, though, his mind restarted its rant. What if it wasn't something about the kids? What if Olivia was right, and Kathy reconsidered it? What if she said she thought it would be better for their kids, better for their baby, if he didn't move out? How was he supposed to respond to that? Would saying no make him the worst man on Earth? Could he walk away from his responsibilities and live with it? He was already a selfish son of a bitch as it was, whatever he chose to do.

Olivia was right. It was easy to show up there and demand to stay when he had been kicked out, a suitcase as his only possession, and what was worse: it might look like she was his second option, his alternative since his wife didn't want him anymore, and that he expected her to feast on his wife's unwanted scraps. Maybe he couldn't claim heroically that he was leaving anything behind; he hadn't even been the one to make the move. Olivia wanted him to say with certainty that he would have been able to do it on his own, even if Kathy still wanted to stay married, but he couldn't know for sure.

How could he explain that it was his resolve, not his love for her, that was susceptible to other people's expectations of him? But maybe Olivia did know him better than he knew himself, and she knew that being able to give her that assurance made all the difference, was the perfect measure of the legitimacy of his feelings for her in any way that mattered.

He heard the door creaking open and he could see her silhouette through the fogged glass. He slid the door, opening a crack so they could see each other, and he contained a smile when he saw her holding out a towel for him; apparently, he had won the dispute for the time being. They weren't grocery shopping, but she hadn't hesitated before invading the bathroom when he was in there, showering, like that happened every morning.

"Kathy called me looking for you," she said, point blank, and while her words seemed to prove her point, she didn't seem like she wanted to bring that up; in fact, she now seemed to have jumped right back into the role of his partner Olivia, who managed the world for him, screened his calls, gave him unsettling news in the most soothing tone, like she was the only other human being who spoke his language – sometimes he felt like she was. "Eli has a fever. She gave him medicine, but his temperature won't go down. She's taking him to the hospital, I told her you would meet her there."

Elliot felt his heart start racing immediately. "I-I…" he stuttered, taking the towel she was offering him.

"Finish up, I'll get you some clothes," Olivia said dismissively, already on her way out.

When he walked back into her bedroom, a pair of clean boxers, a t-shirt and a pair of jeans lay on the bed. He started getting dressed, in a hurry, guilt searing him about not having picked up his phone. As usual, Olivia was right. About it being Kathy, about it being an emergency; she wasn't going to talk about it, not when his child was sick, going to the hospital, but he knew the implications in her mind, the conclusions she would reach, especially if he was going to be far from her for the next few hours, maybe longer. She walked into the room bringing his shoes and his leather jacket, which she helped him put on.

"Hey, Liv," he said, trying to snap her out of practical mode. She looked up at him. "We'll continue our conversation later," he promised.

"Elliot," she started, looking away from him and completely gone, out of his reach. "Nothing else matters right now, just go be with your son."

He nodded, still sort of numb himself. "Come with me," he said on a whim when she handed him the shoes; he knew it was a long shot.

Olivia smiled and shook her head. "Kathy does _not _want to see me," she said, "especially not at the hospital with her sick baby."

There wasn't much he could argue; she was right, but he wanted her to know this didn't prove her point, he was willing to try anything, but he couldn't even think of anything better than _Come with me_. When he was fully dressed, she started walking, headed for the living room. It was almost as if the sick baby was hers – or as if she wanted to get rid of him really quickly.

"I'll call you as soon as I can," he promised, following her, but she didn't reply as she reached the door, opened it and held it for him, looking down. "Okay?" he insisted.

"Of course, we'll talk later," she said, vague, calm, nodding, but he knew she was just trying to get him to leave sooner.

Not this time, though. He reached for her, and she was so surprised that she didn't have time to even think of reacting when he caught her face between his hands and pulled her to a kiss, screw caution. He felt her hands on his shoulders, and that touch was enough to read her, how she was alert, not completely giving in, her hands there more ready to push him away than to receive him. He took one of his hands to the small of her back and pulled her to him, disassembling that weak barrier and giving her no choice but to move her arms to surround his neck.

With the hand he still had cupping her head, he carefully maneuvered her so that he could deepen the kiss for a moment, squeezing her against him, and he heard a small moan escaping into his mouth when he lightly touched her tongue with his. Since being touched by him didn't seem to be her biggest fear, he figured this would be the most effective way of making any point he had been so clumsily trying to make with words.

Elliot pulled away, then leaned in to give her a last peck on the lips, like it was normal, like it happened every day, like they were used to walking into each other's showers, going grocery shopping together, saying goodbye with a quick kiss on the lips.

"I'll call you," he said as he finally let go of her, and she stood there with her eyes still closed, her overdefensive arms now paralyzed, hanging in the air, either trying to hold on to him or protect herself, he couldn't tell, maybe both.

He walked fast through the door, closing it behind him and dialing Kathy's number to ask which hospital she was heading to.


	26. The right thing to do

26 - THE RIGHT THING TO DO

When the rain began, it finally brought Olivia some relief. It had been a long day, spent all alone inside her mind, hostage to the incessant thoughts that assaulted her mercilessly. She had been so desperate to get rid of Elliot, believing she'd feel better once he was gone, but she didn't feel comfortable anywhere, in a constant state of fight or flight, but whatever she had to run from didn't stay behind when she moved. The monster chasing her had always been inside her head, and the rain showed her that struggling was useless, she couldn't win a fight against herself any more than she could keep the water from soaking her. The only answer at hand was letting go, putting down her sword. Surrendering. Letting the cold water bring her back to the present and wash everything else away.

But it hadn't all been agony; all the thinking she had done had also brought a few important insights. She'd been struggling to find something to help her feel like herself again, but she realized it was a dead end. Herself – what was that even supposed to represent? What exactly was she trying to go back to? _You can't go back to before_, Huang had warned her, and he was right. She tried to remember before, what was it about it that made it so alluring, so necessary, but she couldn't think of anything else besides the fact that it was known, safe in its predictability, her comfort zone, as uncomfortable as it might have been. It was certainly not a place where she had felt any less lonely than she did right now.

The difference was that she had never allowed herself to recognize that loneliness – or any of the other problems that made before not at all as comfortable as she had been pretending it was. Revisiting the beach house events in her dreams, she understood now, had actually made that clearer, helped her see past the torture and the pain of those memories and acknowledge everything she had learned about who _herself _really was. Undeniable as the suffering Eric had put her through was, he had also inadvertently helped her by ruthlessly exposing so many lies she had been telling herself in order to feel safe, but which had come to imprison her.

During her captivity, Olivia had also been forced to confront her vulnerabilities. Through violence, psychological torture and even using Elliot, Eric had hit her in those exact spots, and only then did she acknowledge their existence – when they ached, lessons learned from pain, like the antibodies that could only be synthesized by the body after contracting the disease, the ironic, thin line between poison and antidote. Her eyes had been pried open, and she could no longer buy into her own expired fantasy that nothing could get to her, that she had been able to make sure she had no weaknesses. Nobody could do that.

It had hurt so much, of course it had. Hurting her had always been Eric's purpose, but not in the same gratuitous way she'd been hurt in Sealview, when she had worked undercover to reveal a rapist and almost become his victim. There, she had been a faceless target to a man who felt entitled to hurting prisoners because, to him, they were worthless. To Eric, Olivia hadn't been faceless at all, she had actually been way too familiar. She'd had her own face, but also _his _face, like a coin with two heads and no tails. The fear of intimacy, the trust issues, the defense mechanisms, the blinding need for control; he had read her so well because a lot of it had been like reciting what was going on inside his own head. He had seen himself in her, and eventually, she had seen herself in him too. They had seen each other through a two-way glass, but one with the window and the mirror mixed up on both sides, letting them also see themselves at the same time, like some twisted self-discovery exercise.

Eric had never allowed that connection to happen with any of his other victims, that mutual contemplation of all the information in the glass, the trick that made it both reflective and see-through. It had been one-sided, like his romantic experiences, except for the fact that he had made sure he had control on his side this time – or believed the illusion of it. He'd seen himself in Angela, Elizabeth and Anna: they'd stared back at him with all the things he didn't want to face about himself, and he'd found relief in redirecting his self-loathing towards his reflections. Maybe by hurting them, he could keep those pieces of himself safely hidden under that coat of hatred; maybe by killing them, he might kill those weaknesses in him too.

With Olivia, however, he had somehow let control slip between his fingers and ended up caught sitting across from her, the glass between them. Seeing his true reflection had pushed Eric over the edge, turned him into the last casualty in his disastrous struggle to stay in control, to remain safe in his uncomfortable comfort zone while, on the other end of the spectrum, Olivia had been given the opportunity to learn from her truth, to see for the first time that control had always been an illusion beyond reach, to question how far she would go in her own struggle for it, when it didn't even really exist.

As terrifying as that idea had initially sounded, contemplating the possibility that there was no such thing as control was also incredibly liberating. It told Olivia what she'd needed months in therapy to accept after her assault in that prison basement: that under the circumstances, there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. It now saved her a long, round guilt-trip, with countless stops in her mind's itinerary, revisiting all the ways she could have protected herself from Eric – she was his reflection in the mirror, and that would always have made her a target, no matter what she did.

While Eric hadn't been able to go on living with the person he had become, the man he saw in the mirror in that last moment, with his faulty logic, his flawed plan, with the same untouched weaknesses he had tried to kill by taking other people's lives, Olivia had finally seen her real self, no shield, no idealization, no feigned fortress, and realized she could live with that version of her, maybe she could even learn to like it. She had seen her vulnerability and was actually stronger for it now. Pretending she was impenetrable was far more dangerous, because it allowed anyone who could see the exposed patches of skin not covered by her armor from outside to strike her where it hurt the most, a debilitating or maybe even fatal blow with the added perplexity of not knowing what had hit her.

Which led her back to Elliot. He had been there through everything, he'd seen the open wound of her vulnerability, he was a big part of it. Maybe that was the reason she had dreamed about him torturing her, helping expose the wound, right after he had made her feel so loved; maybe replaying such literal images of him hurting her physically was the way her subconscious had found to shine light on much more abstract fears. She had told him she wasn't afraid of him, because she knew he would never hurt her intentionally, but he did have, unlike anyone else, the power of breaking her heart simply because he had it in his hand, he'd had it for years. And yet, it wasn't any more his now than it had always been, the only difference was that this truth was now out in the open.

But most of all, her biggest fear was getting used to him there, sleeping in her bed, making her coffee, grocery shopping, only to lose it all when he decided to go back to his role of father and husband. She didn't want to get used to counting on anything he might have to withdraw later. Unlike the general fear of getting close to someone and losing them, a fear of endings, a fear of death, or even the fear of leaving her heart entirely at someone else's mercy, this was a specific fear, a very real and palpable threat that could strike at any moment. He was being impulsive, and she was afraid because he didn't seem to be aware of reality lurking around the corner, just waiting to catch up with him.

She knew now that he loved her, as she had promised him that morning when he had been inside her for the last time. This was no longer about believing his love for her; she had seen it, tasted it, witnessed it, lived it. But she also knew that his feelings had no standing against what he believed to be his responsibilities, his duties towards his family – reality, still there, lurking, waiting to remind him. Maybe it had already caught up with him right now as she thought about this, he was there now, and she couldn't see him coming back. She couldn't see him leaving his marriage behind.

It was such a concrete thing, and he was such a concrete man. The fact that he was trying so hard was a beautiful testament to his love for her, how real and how great it was, and it filled her heart to know that, it made her feel warm, it made her want to fall back into that place of completeness and safety that she had experienced a few times now, but reality kept pulling her back, and it would get to Elliot too. Reality, concreteness, whatever she might choose to call it. It was that phone that kept ringing, it was Kathy's voice on the other end, the baby's elevated temperature, it was the fact that doing the right thing for other people was who he was.

She could remember, clear as day, when he had told her Kathy was pregnant with Eli, about two years after their separation and just a few months after he had told her he'd signed the divorce papers. She'd known the minute he had said it, but still she had found herself asking him anyway, a shred of hope still there like the shaky flame of a flimsy candle standing before the windstorm: what was he going to do? He had been surprised, annoyed even, because it was so obvious. As always, he had chosen the path of righteousness then, and Olivia was certain he would do the same now. Two years and signed divorce papers hadn't kept him from going back home. She didn't know that anything could.

Days like those would happen too often, when his phone would ring with an emergency, and he would go, of course, and realize it was too long a drive to Queens. He would get there and put out the fire, and then he would look around him and see that he was home. He would sit on his couch to wind down the adrenaline, maybe even lie on his bed to get some rest, or fall asleep inside his wife for some comfort. Even if no accident baby resulted from it this time, something was eventually going to remind him that he belonged there. She knew him too well. It would be stronger than him, it would be like gravity, and he wasn't going to be able to fight gravity for very long, no one was.

But then the night came, and darkness started poking holes in Olivia's cover story, her illusion glowing, revealed, like an invisible bloodstain sprayed with luminol: even knowing better than to expect Elliot to come back, she was still waiting for him. Some hidden, rebellious part of her was defying the beautifully foolproof logic her mind had been working on all day, and even presenting an airtight case, with undeniable evidence and no room for reasonable doubt, the jury in her head had deadlocked. Her unbreakable logic wasn't enough to keep her from waiting for him, it wasn't even enough to cushion the blow now, the disappointment of watching her vacant apartment moving further into the night just as excruciating.

She needed a distraction, a reset button, she suddenly couldn't bear to look at those indifferent walls for another second, their emptiness screaming and threatening to start closing in while the ticking of the clock had become a hammer driving nails into her head. On a whim, she put on a pair of boots and a coat and stepped out of the apartment, the building, started walking outside with no specific destination. The streets were mostly empty, not exactly compelling anyone else to come out; it was getting colder, the profuse clouds hid the moon and the stars in the night sky, the sound of thunder coming from far away like a bad omen.

When the rain began, initially as a light but constant drizzle that drenched her clothes in a matter of minutes, then intensified, making her coat feel more like a heavy layer of ice around her, it was actually a relief. It pulled Olivia immediately back down from inside her head to the freezing water against her skin, bringing such urgent awareness to her body and the present moment. It forced her to stop thinking about the past and the future, and it was always a relief to let go of them, to silence their war in her mind. The present was so easy, so tangible, it was just water making her icy cold lips tremble, it was just the hair sticking to her face, her clouded vision, the much needed silence in her head, this power that water had of silencing everything, washing it all away.

* * *

When the rain began, Elliot was relieved they had made it home with Eli hours before a single drop could even consider hitting him. He was relieved that the baby was doing better, that he was going to be alright, scary as the symptoms had been. He was glad he had been able to be there with his child, which wasn't always the case, and it made him want to work on improving that, being able to be more present in his children's lives. He was relieved because he realized that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn't feeling guilty, like he was letting his family down. He was relieved to realize that maybe he could do more by not trying to do everything, all at once, and ending up doing nothing right, only to be resented for it and waste time fostering more resentment in return.

He had sat with the baby long after he had fallen asleep, watching him, relieved to see his small body now in the right temperature thanks to the antipyretics, his breathing no longer labored after the procedures with nebulized bronchodilator drugs, while the infection was already being addressed by the antibiotics in his system. The doctor had assured him and Kathy that giving Eli the prescribed medication and performing nebulization three times a day would make him feel better instantly, but stressed the importance of following the treatment plan to the letter during the whole recommended period regardless.

It wasn't the first time one of their kids had bronchiolitis, but it didn't make this time any less scary; in a way, a new baby years after considering that four kids were enough kind of felt like having his first baby all over again. Elliot watched carefully as Eli slept, wary of any unusual movements, but he was already feeling much better, as the doctor had predicted, and was clearly exhausted, both noticeable by the peaceful look on his face and the fact that he hadn't moved at all since being transferred from Elliot's arms to the crib. As he watched him breathing, thanking God for his little lungs filling up with the correct amount of oxygen, that got him thinking that life was short, and way too fragile.

This little baby that he loved so much, that was a part of him, had already confronted that inescapable truth that day, and now, he didn't even need to wake up from his contented sleep to show Elliot that life should be a lot simpler than he was making it out to be. This baby knew that he needed oxygen, and food, and for as long as he was provided that, everything was right in the world. He knew love in its purest form, bared of the filters and measurements adults assigned to it, devoid of the conditions grown-ups surrounded it with, like it was a contest to be won, a test to be aced, a rare chance not everybody had.

Baby Eli knew that he didn't have to do a damn thing to be loved, he didn't try to please anyone, he wasn't responsible for anything. He didn't even know what judgment was, and he certainly didn't worry about whether he was acting the way he should to be considered good or not. He hadn't yet learned to assess love through actions, so he fully accepted being loved only for being him, not for what he did, and loving people back the same way. He didn't know yet that it was possible to put someone else's needs above his own, so his only agenda was having his needs fulfilled. It was a wisdom that he would lose as he grew up, like everyone else. Elliot knew that he needed a bit more than just oxygen and food, but he couldn't help but wonder how things went from this, basic needs and pure love, to such complicated relationships.

When he came down the stairs to tell Kathy the baby had been sleeping sound for the last hour and a half or so, she gave him a long hug, a relieved one, one of complicity, a mutual recognition that they were the only two people in the world who knew the panic they had felt that day over the health of this specific small human being, a testament to this bond between them which would never fade for as long as they lived as parents to the same five children.

"You should take some rest," he said as he pulled away, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Now that everything was fine, her exhaustion was blatant. "I'll sleep in Eli's room to watch him."

"You don't have to do that," she said, calm, her hand squeezing his shoulder and patting it a couple times before breaking contact. "Don't worry, I got it from here. It was just a scare."

His forehead creased; it had seemed obvious to him that she would expect him to stay, he hadn't even considered leaving. "Are you sure?" he asked, scrutinizing her for any signs that she hadn't really meant it, but he found none. "You're tired."

"Yeah, I'm sure," she nodded, then looked up with her eyes slightly widened, like she had suddenly remembered something. "You _do_ have a place to stay, right? I just assumed..."

Olivia. Elliot's heart skipped a beat at the thought of going back to her place, still being able to see her tonight, hold her. With the state of alert slowly lifting inside him, he realized there was nothing he wanted more right now than to see her. Food, oxygen… His need for Olivia was suddenly that crucial. Was it too selfish to simply fulfill his need? Leave his child behind, the minute his fever was down? Kathy surprisingly didn't seem to think so.

"Yeah, I do," he said simply, nodding reassuringly, his eyes darting away from hers for a second as the corner of his mouth started turning upward involuntarily, but coming back in time to register the acknowledgment in her eyes, a hint of a bittersweet smile across her features for a second. "Call me if anything happens," he requested. "If he sneezes, I wanna know about it."

He figured this was the time she was going to make some passive-aggressive comment about him not having picked up his phone earlier, maybe she would even mention having to turn to Olivia in order to reach him; but strangely, she just smiled.

"He's in good hands," she reminded him, only exhaustion coloring her smile; no score being kept, no snide remarks, no blame game.

"The best," he completed, his honesty triggered by her lack of pettiness, and her smile widened.

Elliot was in awe. He couldn't remember the last time Kathy had spoken to him like that, unarmed, like she wasn't looking to collect everything he owed her and the kids or at the very least make him feel guilty about it. Or, to be fair, the last time he had spoken to her like this, like he didn't simply take it for granted that she would take care of everything without any of his help, just because she always did.

"I'm glad you came," she nodded, pressing her lips together and taking a deep breath. "It meant a lot that you could be there."

"It's my kid, I had to be here," he shrugged.

"Definitely," she raised her eyebrows emphatically with a hint of a smile, making it clear she wasn't thanking him, just acknowledging how he had done what was minimally expected from him for a change – but not even that sounded like a provocation or criticism.

"Fair enough," he smiled, and there was a moment of silence, both nodding their heads.

Kathy broke it, starting to move towards the front door. "Now go, it's late... she must be worried," she grinned, checking the time on her watch. "I would know."

There it was… It would have been too good to be true if she hadn't said anything at all about it. "Kath…" he started to protest, but she shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, waving her hands dismissively.

"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it," she rushed to clarify, looking like she really regretted saying it, seeming intent on keeping the peace. She stopped by the door and looked back at him. "I guess it's too soon to joke about it, isn't it?"

Elliot didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry…" he whispered, not sure what part of it all he was apologizing for; he had the night with Olivia in the cribs on his mind, but it could be anything, big or small. It could be over twenty years of big and small things, so he figured she could take her pick.

"We'll figure this out," Kathy guaranteed. "Today was a great start, don't you think?"

He nodded his agreement. "This is good," he gestured from him to her and back. "I hope we can go on like this."

"Me too," she said, but quickly looked away; maybe this was hard for her, which only made Elliot appreciate her effort more.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" he insisted one last time.

"Hundred percent," she assured him, opening the door and then folding her arms around her, still pretty much avoiding his eyes.

Elliot was still having a hard time believing there was no resentment in her voice about him leaving – or about anything else, for that matter, but he figured maybe her resentment had always been a reaction to his unwillingness to recognize his faults or change his ways, in and endless cycle in which she would blame everything on his absence and he would retaliate by becoming even more detached, a silent war of negative feelings triggering other negative feelings, until they could no longer remember what had started it all.

A great start… Maybe she was right. That day, they'd been able to find some middle ground and fight on the same side instead of against each other, and it had been the best thing not only for their sick child, but for themselves, to be able to have an ally through a tough situation. Elliot hoped they could both always remember that, not only after long, hard days like this one.

If they could partner up, mutually respecting each other, Elliot figured it would be a much better scenario for their kids than if they'd gone on pretending they still wanted to be married, acting only on feelings of obligation while secretly blaming each other for their unhappiness, making their children witness fights, resentful remarks, or, on a good day, two distant people who had trouble communicating and retreated to their separate corners.

"Call me," he insisted as he passed by her, only turning away when she nodded her acknowledgment. "Good night."

"Night," she said behind him before closing the door.

Elliot stood there for a second, looking at the closed door, the lights on in the living room and the bedrooms, everything there without him in it, and when he ultimately turned to walk away, he realized this was probably the first time in more than twenty years that he walked out of that house without feeling like he was letting anyone down.

When the rain began, quite suddenly, he had just reached the car. He paused for a second, holding the handle, feeling the cold drops on his head and experiencing a rare sensation of freedom. He closed his eyes and lifted his chin up, allowing the rain more access, amazed to find out that it was possible to walk away without feeling in debt to anyone, feeling like he wasn't doing anything wrong, when a few weeks earlier, he wouldn't have been able to imagine himself leaving the house and getting in his car to go see Olivia, the woman he had forbidden himself to have feelings for, recognizing that was what he wanted to do and actually doing it without any feelings of guilt.

* * *

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Elliot snapped as soon as their eyes met, grabbing her arm and starting to yank her back towards her building.

Olivia couldn't quite believe it; she had finally found some peace walking in the rain, the only thing that helped pause the endless stream of arguments with herself about him playing over and over again in her head, and there he was, ripping her away from her distraction with a firm grip around her upper arm and clear rage dripping from his stance, when he wasn't even supposed to be in the city.

"I'm just walking," was her delayed, silly reply. She looked like she hadn't been expecting to see him, as well as surprised by his outburst – he was a bit surprised himself, but it was way beyond his control now.

He had been just about to call the precinct to report her missing when he saw her approaching from down the street, no umbrella, no rush. Something broke loose in him, and he just charged towards her, rage flowing through his body like searing lava. After the day he'd spent at the hospital with his feverish baby having trouble breathing, he was way too tired and in no mood for Olivia's little disappearing act with a chance of pneumonia as the cherry on top.

"You trying to get sick?" He shoved in the front door he'd left wedged open with such strength that it bounced back towards them; he contained it with one hand as he pushed her inside before him with the other, like that millisecond was going to make a big difference. Inside, under the brighter light, he noticed she was shivering, her lips pale, and it only made him angrier. "How long were you out there?"

Elliot was livid, and his rage triggered Olivia's. She hated it when he got like this, acting like a jerk, taking his frustrations out on her – especially when his frustrations were actually _about _her. She didn't need him to scold her for being out in the rain, she'd never had a father to do that and her mother had never cared enough. She'd been in charge of taking care of herself all her life, and he should know better than to yell at her when he thought she wasn't doing a good job of it.

"Save it, all right?" she finally spoke again, annoyance superseding her initial astonishment. Her voice came out as shaky as her body though, despite the effort she put into making it sound harsh. She tried to free her arm, but he wouldn't let her. "I just took a walk to clear my head, I do it all the time."

"In the rain?" he raised his voice even more as they climbed the stairs. "At almost midnight?"

"Will you keep it down?" she demanded, her clenched teeth chattering slightly, her head spinning; he wasn't supposed to come back. "What were you doing in front of my building anyway?"

"I was trying to get home, but you were supposed to be there!" he exclaimed with frustration, looking away from her, clearly focused on getting to the apartment as soon as possible.

_Home_. His choice of words caught Olivia off guard, especially because he didn't emphasize it, he just said it like it was simple fact, universal truth. _Trying to get home_. But this wasn't his home, and he was needed in his real one. "What about Eli? Why aren't you with your son?"

"I was until now," he said, dry, dismissive. "He's fine."

How could he be fine? Enough for Elliot to leave his side? Leave his side to come _here_? _He's here_, she remembered, but what did that mean? Was reality just staking him out a little further down the road than she had thought?

He stopped at her door, his fingers still curled around her elbow. "Keys," he commanded, before she could think of opening the door herself. When she didn't respond in any way, he turned to look at her; each time he laid eyes on her colorless, trembling lips, he got angrier.

He wasn't supposed to be here. _But he was._ Olivia's mind was shorting out, trying to process that anomaly. He was holding out his open hand, waiting, so she pulled the keychain from her coat pocket and slapped it into his palm so that at least they could take the shouting inside. _He's here_. Yes, he was, annoying her, disrespecting her, shouting in the hallways, her neighbors could complain. He had no right to treat her like this. Where was he all the other times she had walked out in the rain or cried alone in the dark?

Elliot couldn't get the lock open soon enough, his haste making him lose precious seconds. When he finally managed to turn the key, he pulled at Olivia's arm to direct her, but now she forcefully freed herself from his grip and entered the apartment on her own. He slammed the door on his way in, anger getting the best of him.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled. "Are you trying to get yourself killed now that you survived a fucking serial killer?"

"Killed?" she sneered; this guy had seen her in countless life-or-death situations in the field, and now he couldn't trust her chances against a little rain? He was making her feel like a a teenager who had sneaked out on her parents. "I was just trying to clear my head! I needed some space."

"From what?" he inquired, like he didn't believe her, with an intimidating step in her direction, inquisitive hands on his waist. "You were alone in here."

"Exactly," she grinned to herself; if he had any idea how much she had needed some space from herself. "Just drop it, all right? This might come as a shock to you, but I was always able to take care of myself."

His eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth rose in a crooked, mocking, infuriating smile. "I can see that, great job. You want a medal?" He was running his eyes over her wet, disheveled hair and her face still drained of color and wondering if she realized how much her current state was undermining the credibility of her allegation. But he didn't have time to say anything about that, because her hair was wet and disheveled, and her face was still drained of color. "You're freezing," he rasped, grabbing her arm again. "Come on."

"What are you…?" Olivia mumbled, but then he was once again dragging her like she was a spoiled brat. He simply hauled her through her bedroom, without a word, in a sudden rush. "Elliot…" she started asking, but he just towed her into the bathroom. She raised her voice to get his attention. "Elliot!"

"Shut up for a second!" he yelled back at her, stunning her into silence and stillness as he let go of her to operate the shower. When he seemed satisfied with the temperature of the water, he turned to her again and unceremoniously started working on stripping her down.

"Hey, what the…?" she breathed, astonished. "I can…"

"...do this yourself, I know," he completed, pausing for a moment to stare at her with that sarcastic smile again before resuming his work. "You can take care of yourself, you did it your whole life, 'cause you have no one and all that crap. This is getting really old! How long are you gonna hang on to Downey and his goddamned profile as an excuse?"

"What?" she replied, outraged that he would mock her about this, knowing how much that had always hurt her. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how you never let anyone get close to you," he said firmly, in a disapproving tone, as he clawed at her wet clothes to remove them. "How many guys must have been out of their minds in love with you, and the minute it got serious, you shut them out like you've been trying to do with me?"

"Now _you're _starting to sound like him," she said, her voice choking with bitterness, hurt because of the truth in his words, because of the judgment, like he didn't know why she did that, like he didn't understand. Eric had said that on purpose to torture her, what was Elliot's excuse?

It was a punch in the gut, but Elliot knew she was comparing him to Downey on purpose to get to him, to make him feel guilty again. He softened his tone. "I just can't understand why go through all this trouble to get away from me."

"Don't you have it all figured out?" she snapped, slapping his hands away and taking over the task of undressing. "You're right, I ran from every guy who's ever wanted me. It's all me, I like fitting Eric's profile. I like being all alone in the world. Right? Isn't that what you said?" Her voice was coming out louder with every word. "If I didn't like it so much, I could be married and have my own five kids by now, it's that easy. It could have happened with any one of the dozens of men crazy in love with me chasing me around. Or maybe I should have married one of the pervs who just wanted to go to bed with me because I catch rapists." She was down to her bra and underwear now, and she didn't know if her shaking was from the cold or the outrage. She took another step, standing only a couple of inches from him now, and resumed her yelling. "Guess I should've just held onto one of the good men who wanted to role-play rape fantasies with me because that's all they could see when they looked at me!"

He had been watching her, paralyzed, in shock not only at what she was saying, but also at the anger, the hurt; he wondered how long she had been bottling it up inside. He swallowed hard, a bitter mixture of guilt and rage in the back of his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That's not what I meant... If you give me those clowns' names…" Both of his hands balled into fists, his fingernails stinging against his palms with fury as he tried to suppress the images of the encounters she'd just described.

Olivia nodded, victorious. She wanted him to feel guilty for what he'd said, but maybe guilt was contagious; she remembered that she _had _blown off good guys, because they were good, but they weren't better than him. She remembered how she would debate it in her head, reminding herself what an asshole he could be sometimes, judgmental, prejudiced, headstrong, and yet, the most gentle, caring guy wouldn't measure up, as much as she tried to pretend Elliot wasn't the reason, that she hadn't made that comparison, that he wasn't the parameter she was measuring everything against.

"You know what Eric told me?" she looked up at him, her voice now barely audible. "He said… that maybe the reason I was attracted to you was because you represented everything I've never had… a father… a family. Someone to look out for me, to protect me."

Her voice failed upon saying those last words, which came out as little more than a whisper but echoed loud in the emptiness they evoked inside her. The loneliness. She had no idea why she was talking about this. Elliot hadn't been in the room when Eric had said those things, and she wouldn't have wanted him to hear it, it was too shameful, but now she just couldn't contain the urge to tell him. Elliot smiled, though, only adding up to her confusion.

"That alone proves him wrong, because you never let me," he said, but she wouldn't look at him, too far gone in her own head now. "Liv… when are you gonna stop torturing yourself with what that guy said to you?"

"He said I secretly wanted to destroy your family, just because I didn't have one," she added, ignoring him. She looked up again, smiling, eyes welling up. "How's that for psychoanalysis, huh?"

Elliot shook his head. "I thought we were supposed to be trying to forget what happened there. Isn't that what you asked me this morning? To forget?"

She raked his face for any reactions to what she had just told him, any sign that he agreed, that he was somehow affected, but she saw none. "What if he wasn't wrong?" she insisted.

"It was a mind game!" he raised his voice again, irritated. "And it's still working, 'cause he already checked out and there you are, still listening to him." He waited for her to say something, but she didn't. "Maybe he was right about some things… And not about others. And what the hell does it matter anyway?" He softened his tone "You're just… gonna have to let it go."

She looked at him, her eyes wide, like a little girl's, and she didn't have to open her mouth for him to understand she wanted to ask him how to do that. He didn't know, but right now, he needed to warm her up, so he took her wrist and led her into the shower, driving her right under the stream of water without much chance to acclimate.

Olivia gasped loudly, her eyes shutting tight, when she came in contact with the hot water, her body so cold against it that it initially made her shake even harder, her muscles tensing up, her arms curling up around her to try and cover themselves, and as the water forcefully warmed her up, waves of painful relief rippled through her.

Elliot's hand was still firm around her wrist, like she might sink and drown if he let her go, but even in the middle of their fight, she was glad for the connection. She was still shivering, and when she opened her eyes again, she saw it as he joined her, standing close, still fully dressed.

"You'll get wet," she said faintly, in a reflex, realizing as she spoke that he was already wet from meeting her halfway on the street.

Without any warning, he wrapped both of his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, squeezing tight. She felt instantly warmer, and only then realized how much she had craved this contact, how much she had missed it. _He's here_, she remembered, already waiting for her mind's retort, but it never came. Just silence. The water, once again, bringing her back to the present, a present in which he was here, holding her until she got warm. Her mind had run all the possibilities, calculated all potential outcomes, but never this one; she'd been so certain that he wasn't coming back.

And then it hit her: without noticing, she had slipped right back into it and just done it again, tried to exert some control by using the past to predict the future. She had pretended that knowing what Elliot had done in the past meant that she knew what he was going to do in the future, because she'd needed to know sooner rather than later, even if she had to decide the outcome herself. The fact that he was there now was proof that there was no way of knowing what would happen. Even now that he was here, how was she supposed to know how long he was going to stay?

She let her weight rest against him, shamelessly breathing in his scent, suddenly so familiar, so reassuring. It was like coming home, it was as if she was remembering something she didn't even know she knew. She felt one of his hands coming up to cradle her head, while the other moved up and down her back, in a soothing motion.

"You scared me," she felt more than heard him say into her hair.

"I'm sorry," she said against his chest, her voice already a bit stronger. "I didn't mean to."

"Just glad you're okay," was his barely audible answer.

She curled her fingers around the hem of his t-shirt and started rolling it up, pulling away when she needed his help to finish removing it. Before helping her, he threw her an inquisitive look, and her reply was to pull him flush against her, their chests and stomachs connected under the stream of water; she wanted access to his skin, and he granted it, holding her tight again once the piece of clothing was gone.

Elliot watched it as her shaking slowly subsided, felt it as her skin recovered its warmth; he pulled away slightly, relieved to see the color back on her face. Her eyes fluttered closed in response to the water drops, and he brushed her hair away from her face as he pulled her slightly away from the spray.

"You wanna know what I see when I look at you?" he said, making her look up at him. "I don't see the tough cop who catches rapists. I don't see the girl who made the best she could out of a really bad deal. Not even just… the beautiful woman I see guys drooling over every day. Not at all. I see… The best person I know. The first person I wanted to see tonight as soon as I knew my kid would be okay. The first person I wanna see when something bad happens, when something good happens."

Olivia opened her mouth, but nothing came out; she felt stupid now for having said all that stuff, trying to make him feel guilty. It seemed so irrelevant now. He went on.

"I wasn't trying to say you should have married any of the bastards you've dated, I'm sure not a single one of them deserved you."

Olivia chuckled wryly. "Okay, it's either an endless line of great guys I blew off before giving them a chance or no one is good enough for me," she mocked. "Choose one, you can't have both."

Elliot grinned, a weird mixture of sadness with something she couldn't quite identify. "I'll pick number two."

"Nobody deserves me?" she pushed, still kidding. "Not even you?"

He shook his head, slowly, defeated, and gave her a sad smile. "God knows I don't think anyone deserves you. _Especially_ me." He was very serious now, no longer joking. "Nobody deserves you, but you deserve to have whoever you want and make whoever that son of a bitch is the luckiest guy in the world."

Her breath hitched. "And who do you think I want?"

She regretted asking instantly; what was he supposed to answer? They both knew who she wanted, but that didn't change anything. He stared at her, his eyes intense, never faltering from hers, his proximity making her swallow hard; she waited for him to say something, but he didn't, he was just watching her, wondering what she was going to say now to defend herself, to deny she wanted him.

She shook her head, sighing, too disoriented. Just an hour earlier she had been sure he had already decided to go back home to Kathy, but he was here now, and she didn't know anything anymore. Her voice was small, bare, and that gut-wrenchingly sad smile formed on her lips again, her eyes watering slightly. "I don't know, Elliot..." was all she managed to say.

"Right," he said. "This is about what you said this morning, isn't it? That I was going to realize staying married is the right thing to do."

She waited for him to say something else about it, whether to confirm it or refute it, but he didn't. He just removed one of his hands from around her waist and reached for a bottle of shampoo. Her brows snapped together, wondering what he was going to do with it. He opened the lid with his thumb and took a sniff at it.

"Smells good," he said, smiling, freeing his other hand while she still secured them together with her arms around him.

Olivia watched him with curiosity, but showed no sign she intended to interrupt him. He pumped a good amount of the liquid from the bottle, then put it down so he could rub his hands together to produce foam. Next, he used his forefinger to lift her chin slightly so gravity would keep the foam from running down her face and started applying the shampoo onto her head carefully.

"I have daughters," he smiled at the question-mark look on her face as she watched him, but she wasn't doubting his skills at washing a girl's hair.

In reality, she was amazed, watching it as he thoroughly took care of her, and in that moment she felt loved. It was so powerful, so overwhelming, it made doubt sound like a silly, unimportant voice inside her head as it kept insisting he might not want this tomorrow, but he was rubbing his fingers against her scalp so lovingly that it made her not think about tomorrow. Her mind threw at her once again the memory of him going back to his wife the other time they had separated, but his expression was so focused on what he was doing that before didn't matter either, and suddenly it didn't matter that she had never had a father who held her like this, who worried about her getting a cold, who washed her hair, because she had Elliot _now_, and now was all she really had any relevant access to.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, moving her carefully towards the water and tilting her head further back, one hand on her forehead to shield her face while the other hand helped the water remove the foam from her hair.

It was the best feeling in the world, the hot water, his hand through her hair, her eyes closed as she focused on receiving this, on letting him take care of her, letting him love her. Maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe it wasn't so hard. Just because she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, that didn't mean she couldn't just let someone else do it for a change.

Once he was done, he put the shampoo back where he'd found it and started checking the other bottles. Upon noticing he was having some difficulty, Olivia turned her body slightly, using one of her hands to choose the right bottle. Elliot thought she was going to apply the conditioner herself, but she just gave it to him and put her arm back around him; he could tell she was amused watching him, and smiled. She smiled back as he pumped the conditioner into one of his hands and then rubbed them together again, but didn't tell him he didn't have to do that – him trying was too cute, she didn't want to criticize him.

"Not on the roots," she instructed, amused, mostly to tease him, see what he would do.

"Why not?" his forehead creased with genuine curiosity, and she laughed.

"I thought you had daughters," she teased.

"They don't tell me all the secrets," he smiled, applying the product from the mid-shaft down to the ends of her hair as instructed. "I've been thinking about it, and you're right," he said casually, paying attention to what he was doing. "I always have to do the right thing."

Olivia sighed, disappointed with the subject change. "You do," she confirmed with resignation.

"But Liv... You're forgetting that sometimes there's more than one right thing to do," he explained matter-of-factly. "And also… I've realized that doing the right thing for the wrong reasons kind of defeats the purpose."

He removed his hands from her hair and held her gaze intently, watching his words reverberate in her, her mouth half-open, her eyes slightly wide, but she didn't say anything. He gestured for her to step into the water again; she closed her eyes and did as told. Elliot followed, untangling her hair with his fingers as the water took care of taking away the conditioner, and Olivia felt like he was also untangling her thoughts, letting them wash away.

"All done," he said, watching it as she opened her eyes again, ran a hand over her hair. When she looked at him again, he spoke. "So… Unless you tell me you don't want me here… I'm not going anywhere. Because you can't tell me this is wrong. You and me. Can you?"

She looked for an answer, but after a while she just shrugged. "I can't tell anymore," she said.

Elliot sighed. "I can't stay away," he continued, sounding a bit impatient. "I tried. And I succeeded, for years. But I can't do that anymore. You're gonna have to convince me you think this is wrong, or that you don't want me here, otherwise I'll just stay. Do you want me to go?"

Olivia found herself at a loss for words. This was it, he was giving her an out. And as much as she knew that he could smell her bullshit from a mile away, she also knew that, if she preyed on his fear of scaring her, on his guilt over the beach house and so many other things, she might actually convince him to go, and end this right now, her last chance to take control. She faced herself in her mental mirror, but she saw Eric blowing his head off, his last desperate act for control, his last act at all. How much further was _she _going to go in her own struggle for control? A mantra in her head.

She knew now that there was no such thing as control, but it was easier said than done. She was a junkie, and she wasn't just going to go cold turkey all of a sudden; she had actually just relapsed, trying to convince Kathy to take him back, trying to convince him he would eventually want to go back, trying to convince herself that this was it, that he was gone. But the truth was there was nothing she could do to relieve the fear of losing Elliot, whether to Kathy, to a bullet, like in her dream, or to anything else.

There was no such thing as control, remembering the past didn't mean predicting the future. There was no way of knowing what was going to happen, or when; the future was beyond her reach, she couldn't touch it, she couldn't skip to the last page to read the ending, there was no fast-forward button available at the touch of her hand. Why was that so hard to remember sometimes? She had been so worried about reality catching up with Elliot, she hadn't realized _she _was the one that needed to catch up with it: the only reality that existed was the present, and in the present he was here, with his arms around her, washing her hair, trying to make her let him take care of her.

So, right now, in the present… Did she want this? Or did she want him gone? He was saying he didn't have the strength to stay away, well, she didn't have the strength to make him. She was only human, after all, and she couldn't undo this, couldn't unsee this. Maybe she was the one fighting gravity, and she was tired of kicking and screaming while she fell all the same.

She had tried everything, gone out of her way to try and keep this from happening, but he was there, and she'd run out of excuses. She was delivered, in his arms, surrendering. She was so tired of fighting. She decided that, at this point, fighting was more painful than anything that might eventually come to happen, her worst fears couldn't surpass the pain she was in right now, the pain she was putting herself through. So she was done. She was done fighting. Whatever had to happen, she was just going to see it through, however long it lasted, whether a week, a year, a lifetime. The only answer at hand was letting go, putting down her sword. Surrendering. Letting the warm water bring her back to the present and wash everything else away.

So no, she didn't want him to go. She shook her head to answer his question, because keeping it still was so painful and exhausting. She shook it, because letting him stay was such a relief, it invaded her with such joy, such happiness, to know that she was letting go, that there was absolutely nothing that she could do, that she didn't _need _to do anything besides standing there, in his arms, and letting him stay, not move a muscle to resist him, not say a word to convince him, to stop trying to hold back the flood, to realize that she could simply let go, just let go, just open her hands and finally let the illusion of control slip away with the water, let go of the weight – and she felt so light.

"Good," Elliot smiled, invaded by her relief and his own. A moment later, he turned off the shower. "I think that's enough water for you."

He reached for her bathrobe hanging from the wall and helped her into it, and she acknowledged how good it felt to be surrounded by something dry. He also took the same towel he had used that morning and started drying himself off. Olivia was suddenly hit with the awareness that he was there to stay. _Trying to get home_, he had said. So that was it? After all the doubting, the wondering, the fighting… A million doubts started attacking her – well, she knew that was going to happen. Fear would come, and then the need to take control. She would have to be vigilant, and she was going to need his help.

"So that's it?" she said softly, making him look at her. "You're just gonna… stay?"

"Yeah," he said, like it was obvious. "I mean, I intend to get a place of my own, but... "

"Elliot," she called in a warning tone, so serious that his brow furrowed. "I just…" He noticed her eyes were glistening, and her voice broke slightly when she spoke. "I don't think I can take it if you wake up one day and realize you made the wrong choice…"

He paused for a second, then smiled lightly. "I won't," he promised.

A tear finally made it out and rolled quickly down her cheek. "If you change your mind…"

"I'm not going to," he stressed each word, taking a step closer and watching the last of her defenses all falling down. He wiped that tear lightly with the pad of his thumb, then cupped her face with one hand, shrugging. "That all you got?" he teased. "I thought this was gonna be harder."

Olivia smiled. "Give me some time, I'll think of something," she bantered back.

"No," he rasped, his voice firm, wrapping her in his arms. "Time's up."


	27. Presence

27 - PRESENCE

"_Last time I saw you, you were worried you might not be able to get yourself back together after your ordeal," said George Huang, sitting across from me, legs crossed, hands resting on his knee. Cragen had arranged for him to be in charge of my mandatory counseling sessions, which was good because I didn't have to tell my whole life to someone new, but at the same time, I couldn't talk specifically about the main thing I was going through at the moment. "How do you feel now?"_

_How indeed? He wanted to know how I felt about my ordeal, as he put it, but it seemed like something from a past life. I could barely remember being that broken; it was hard to find an answer to his question. "Better…" was what I ended up settling for. "Lucky for me, I was wrong."_

"_Wrong about what?" he asked._

"_We're not in love anymore," I explained, trying to look through the small holes but not really seeing anything in the darkness. "We did everything we could to save our marriage, but we just don't think it makes sense to stay together if that's not what's really in our hearts."_

_I hadn't planned to confess my sins, I didn't even think there were any sins to confess. Did I? I sat there contemplating that question. If I didn't think so, what was I doing there?_

"_And what's really in your heart, Elliot?" the priest asked softly, but right to the point._

"_Not being able to get myself back together, and how I was supposed to do it," I clarified. "I thought a lot about the things that Eric said to me while he held me captive. The truth is we had a lot in common."_

_After weeks, the feeling of Eric's hands wrapped around my neck came back to me crystal-clear, but was quickly replaced by the feeling of Elliot's arms around my naked torso – more recent, more lifelike. _

"_I fell in love with someone else," I admitted. "To be honest, I think I've had these feelings for a while now… I was fighting them in order to keep my family together." I paused, listening for a reaction, but the priest emitted no sound; he seemed to be waiting for me to explain further, so I did, to him and myself. I hoped that, by the time I was done talking, I would know what I had gone there for, what exactly I was asking him to do for me. "I felt guilty for a long time, but father… It's… The way I feel about her… There are no words, it's just something that makes me feel… Closer to God, not farther from Him. The way I feel when I'm with her is… I think that's how God wants us all to feel. I just keep wondering... How could that be wrong, father?" _

"_But after a while… I just had to let go of it," I said. "I thought so much about it all, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand what happened to me by understanding him… But I realized I was just dragging what happened along with me, or rather, staying behind with it, paralyzed, still stuck in that beach house. By obsessing about it I was… I was making it last longer. And it's over. He's dead. It's all in the past now."_

"_Do _you _think it's wrong?" the priest countered. The son of a bitch – sorry, damn it! – gave me a question when all I wanted was an answer; that's what I was there for. To get an answer, an explanation as to why leaving my wife for Olivia was supposed to be wrong when it felt anything but._

"_That's what the bible says…" I reasoned. "But everything in me says it isn't. She makes me a better man… And I think I'm good for her too."_

_But what if God didn't agree with me? How could I know if He did?_

"_I'm glad to hear that, Liv," Huang cheered me on. "Realizing that there's nothing you can do about it _now_ is a really important step in your recovery. You can't ignore what happened, but reliving it over and over again in your head doesn't lead anywhere."_

"_At first I had dreams," I told him. "Very vivid dreams, like I was back there again. But it's been weeks now..."_

"_And in your opinion, what's making them go away?" he had an almost smile on his lips, that face he made when he was intrigued by the suspect or patient he was interviewing. It was kind of funny to be his subject. "Is there something... or someone... that's been helping you?"_

_Yes, there was. I bit my lip. "I've been…" I let my eyes wander all around the room as I looked for the best way to explain it without actually telling him what was going on. "I've been accepting... help. I've been letting myself be taken care of."_

"_Do you think God will forsake me, father?" I asked, barely louder than a whisper, a thought that I'd been afraid to voice even to myself, but which escaped from my mouth right then and there._

"_Do you think He will?" The priest returned; he was all about asking questions and giving no answers. "Have you forsaken Him?"_

_I saw it as he tried to conceal it, but Huang couldn't hide his surprise completely; and then I saw it when he understood it, even though I'd said nothing and tried so hard not to give anything away. "Elliot," he whispered through his smile, as if by doing so we could both pretend he hadn't acknowledged it. _

"_No, never," I rushed to say; that was exactly the problem. I needed to reconcile going against the vows I'd made before Him, I needed to know that He understood why I'd done that, why I thought it was the best for everyone. "My faith in Him is the same it's always been."_

_I nodded, divided between feeling frustrated for having been busted so easily and glad that I didn't have to make an effort to hide it anymore. I had a feeling Huang wasn't going to ask for any details, which was a relief in itself, so I added an explanation that didn't explain much at all, but sounded definitive enough. "He's been there for me and I… I'm not playing tough this time."_

"_In that case, I believe it's safe to say His faith in you remains the same as well," the priest said soothingly, and even though it initially might not have sounded like the answer I was looking for, ultimately it was all I needed to know._

* * *

_Time's up_, he said, then kissed her, and it was as though time had stopped, stayed still for a while, then restarted, at a different frequency, a different beat, complying with new rules. Olivia pulled Elliot by the hand back into the bedroom, walking ahead of him, and then felt him pull at her arm to stop her, letting her bounce back into his bare chest as he surrounded her with both arms, pulling at her bathrobe's belt, loosening its grip around her, his hands slipping into the opening to frame her stomach, her ribs, the tips of his fingers brushing past her wet bra. A sense of urgency made him rush to pull the robe off of her shoulders and arms, moving to unclasp her bra next, and when she felt the tension undone around her, he went back to normal speed, smoothing his hands against the skin of her back, sliding slowly around her until each of his hands cupped one of her breasts from below, her bra falling off of her shoulders and arms on its own as her arms relaxed.

Olivia closed her eyes and gave in to the sensation of his strong, warm hands around her sensitive skin, undoing the coldness the wet bra had maintained against her. His fingers massaged her nipples slowly, and she felt every single hair on her body go up in response to his warm breath and three-day stubble against the back of her neck, trailing kisses from there to her ear, down the side of her throat, along her shoulder. He pressed her against him, rubbing her ass with his erection, rock-hard under the cold, wet fabric of his pants, taking her back to that night at the bar when he'd held her like this, a completely different mood; it seemed like so long ago.

"Turn around for me," he said hoarsely into her ear, his hands slowly sliding off of her, the pitch of his voice striking a chord directly into her core.

She turned and watched it as he raked his eyes over her body, taking in every detail, his hands hovering around her, like he needed to look first, before he could touch, but she was impatient; she grabbed his arms, sliding down to his hands, and brought them back onto her body. He dug his fingers around her waist, pulling her to him, his lips crashing onto hers. As he deepened the kiss, he also held her tighter, feeling it as every cell in their skins connected. He slid his hands down her back and over her ass, coming down to pull her thighs up and lift her off the ground. She wrapped herself around him, and when he pulled away to watch where he was going during those last few steps towards the bed, she moved to kiss his shoulder, his collarbone, pausing at his neck to breathe in a large intake of his scent, predicting this would become a habit, this sensorial reassurance that he was really there, that he was really hers.

Elliot threw her on the bed and was about to crawl on top of her when he noticed his wet jeans were still on. He undid his belt and Olivia sat back up to help him take the pants off, the dampness making it stick to his skin, heavier to pull down, but she did, bowing down to remove it from where it pooled around his feet and taking the opportunity to come slowly back up with her hands snaking around his legs, squeezing at the muscles in his thighs, then sliding up to cup his ass while she trailed kisses up along the inner side of his thigh, feeling it twitch with surprise, her lips curling into a smile just as she was letting them skim along his hardness through his underwear, listening to his breath as it became labored, her hands on the small of his back, her mouth kissing him softly just below his belly button.

She pulled away a little as she gripped the hem of his underwear and pulled it down at once, helping him step out of it, but before she could touch him again, he snatched her arms and pushed her down onto the bed, finally crawling on top of her, craving for her skin, kissing it, biting it, licking it as his hands traveled south, one of them slipping into her panties, in too much of a rush to take them off, but patiently enough to start slowly, just his middle finger sliding softly between her folds, just massaging her at first, up and down, feeling it as her clit engorged and the wetness started pooling near her entrance; he moved his finger towards it then slid it in, testing the waters, and as they flowed, he added another finger, changing the angle of his hand to reach deeper and allow his thumb to take over the sliding motion his middle finger had abandoned. She started to writhe beneath him, and he enjoyed swallowing her moans as he kissed her again.

His fingers found a soft spot inside her, a ridge on her anterior wall, beneath her clit, and he settled on a pinching and sliding motion with his thumb from outside, his index and middle finger from inside; it seemed to send her into a trance state, and he knew from the way she stilled entirely that she just wanted that to never change, never stop, until eventually she started growing impatient, her moans coming out anguished, and Elliot enjoyed trying to decide if she was begging him to stop or continue. Before he could figure it out, she came, moaning his name, digging her nails into his back. She pulled him closer, a hand holding him by the back of his neck.

"What the hell was that," was the whispered compliment she gave him before drawing him to a kiss, an eager one, a mixture of hungry with satisfied, and when he thought she was going to slow down, following the relaxation brought on by her orgasm, she sprawled both hands on his chest and pushed him up, maneuvering him until he was lying on his back and she was on top of him – apparently, she was craving control tonight, and he wouldn't miss finding out what that was like for the world. Elliot felt rewarded, like she was validating his promises, committing to believing his feelings for her.

Olivia took her time, covering every inch of his chest and stomach with her mouth and hands, then carefully sat on top of his crotch, rubbing herself against him, her thin underwear the only thing in between, damp, and she wasn't sure if still from the shower or if it was now from the wetness coming out of her. She crawled down his body, leaving slow, open-mouthed kisses on her trail until she reached his hardness; she leaned in, willing to take it slow. She ran her tongue along his shaft a few times, hearing him groan in response, then wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock, making him involuntarily jerk up, further into her mouth, then freeze, intent on letting her control the pace from now on, but she didn't seem to mind the interference, she actually encouraged it, reaching for his hand and leading it down towards her head.

She slid up and down slowly, each time taking him further inside, and he had a really hard time lying still as he waited for her slow, torturing movements with his fingers tangled in her hair as he tried to keep his hand still, failing a couple of times, pulling lightly at the wet strands in reaction to her attention; he felt her chuckle once, just when he was starting to near her throat, the vibration of her vocal chords almost sending him over the edge. By the time she increased the pace, her lips now reaching the base of his cock as the head hit the back of her throat, he was no longer able to help himself, gently coaxing her up and down with his hand as he thrusted up further into her mouth, and it took everything in him to finally use his other hand to pull her off of him instead of thrusting just a few more times. He pulled her up and kissed her demandingly, his tongue exploring the walls that had just been wrapped around him. When she pulled away to catch her breath, he spoke.

"I'm gonna need to let you finish that sometime."

She smiled mischievously, making him that much more eager. "Next time," she promised, causing a chill down her own spine by acknowledging that there would be a next time, that there would be countless next times, that she finally believed it.

He cupped her ass with both hands, tugging at her underwear. "Why the hell are these still on?"

Olivia got up on her knees and pulled her panties down, slowly, serious, putting on a show for him, and he couldn't help licking his lips when she came into view. When the undergarment was finally off, thrown on the floor, she slowly straddled him once again, enjoying it as she watched him wait for it, impatiently. She moved her hips down and he jerked his up to speed up the process, but she just slithered against him, letting her folds lick him up and down.

"You're killing me," he grumbled, and instead of changing the movement of her hips, she only slowed it down, that smile on her face, enjoying it way too much. "Olivia," he called, serious, his voice gravelly.

"Be patient," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him on the lips and letting her nipples brush against his chest.

"Can't," he protested against her mouth. He grabbed at her hips forcefully, the unspoken threat to take control. "Come on."

She laughed, drunk with power, but complied. She positioned him at her entrance and slid down, letting him fill her up, slowly, their moans coming out in unison. Olivia took her time moving up and down, then forwards and backwards, alternating with circular motions, increasing the pace slowly, and as she did, he he clutched at her hips, watching her breasts sway as she rode him, sliding up one of his hands to touch them, unable to resist. She increased her speed, and so did the volume of her moans as she felt him hitting her at angles he hadn't yet hit her before.

Elliot had considered turning her to change positions after a while, but he was so in awe with the view that he just let her go on, watching it as she approached climax again slowly and doing his best to keep his at bay. Still moving, more frantically now, she leaned in to kiss him, and for the last few thrusts, he helped her by rocking upwards, meeting her halfway and increasing the impact, which was enough to drive her over the edge as she came with a loud moan; once she was done, she kept moving for his sake, but he took control of her hips and, to her surprise, held them in place. The next moment, he sat up and surrounded her with his arms, maintaining the intimate connection but pausing all movement.

"You decided to be patient all of a sudden?" she panted, smiling with her eyes closed, still coming down from her high. She opened her eyes when she felt his hands framing her face to see that he was staring at her, very serious.

Elliot leaned in and kissed her, unhurriedly, like time had stopped again at his request, like he controlled it, and as he languidly ran his tongue along hers, Olivia contemplated how she'd mistakenly thought it was impossible to find him sexier than she already did from the way he walked, talked, that alpha male quality he naturally reeked of, no doubt aided by the incisiveness that exuded from his body not only in the way it looked, so obviously strong and powerful, but in how every move he made was a promise that he was a force to be reckoned with, an unstoppable storm once provoked; in that moment she found him even sexier, as he kissed her so carefully, a mixture of tenderness and provocation.

"I bet I can make you come again," he whispered, holding her tight for a moment, just breathing her in.

"You're going for the hat trick?" she pulled away to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Haven't you noticed?" he said, that seriousness on his features. "We can do anything. With you and me, anything's possible."

The intensity in his eyes and the certainty with which he said that did things to her, and so did his hands on her, steering her to stand on all fours as he got behind her, holding her first, clearing her hair away to kiss the back of her neck, then laying down the weight of his torso on her back, coaxing her to lay her head down and prop her ass further up towards him. He held her wrists with one hand to lead her arms further away until they were stretched out above her head on the pillow, and she felt herself shiver in anticipation when she felt his other hand seizing her hip, putting her where he needed her.

"My turn to try something new," he warned in her ear, just a whisper, his groan coming out loud when he finally slammed back into her.

Elliot filled her up again, with vigorous thrusts, and in addition to the different angle, with added pressure towards her posterior wall this time, there was something about taking him from behind that was almost enough to drive her over the edge a third time like he wanted. Olivia realized that was probably one of the first few times she had ever allowed anyone to do that, probably because it made her so vulnerable, forcing her to relinquish control completely, and what was all of this between them if not relinquishing control completely? She knew then that she trusted him enough to let him take control away from her, in and out of bed. He set a fast pace, not giving her much time to adjust, and it worked perfectly, quickly sending her tumbling closer to the peak.

Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't facing him, maybe it was the added muffling of the pillow, or maybe it was just how every step they took in this new terrain seemed to drive her further away from any feelings of self-consciousness or worry, but her moans quickly increased in volume and pitch until she was practically wailing, and now he grunted along, close too, making her wonder if they were going to come together, such a rare moment of pure synchrony between two people, and as she came, harder than both previous times, perhaps harder than ever, hearing him reach his own climax with a growl that somewhat resembled her name, she remembered the words he'd just said to her, smiling through it all at the fact that the son of a bitch had just proven to her that they were true: anything was possible.

* * *

_Time's up_. And it was. Elliot could clearly see, as Olivia took him by the hand back into her bedroom, that they were walking into a different era in their lives, a different moment. It was as if a weight had been lifted from both of their shoulders, and everything that came after that seemed lighter, brighter. He used to think there wasn't much else to learn about Olivia Benson, but this new light was only starting to be shed onto a myriad of details he didn't yet know, and it showed him he would never be done getting to know her, and that he wouldn't want to anyway.

She was suddenly safe with him, not safe as in safe in the field, that practical, life-or-death kind of trust, but safe to be herself, to show vulnerability, to trust him with her life when there was no death involved. He noticed it in the way she looked at him, in the way she smiled, in the way she moaned his name, tying it to requests on how to be touched, or when, or how urgently. As her protective layers peeled off one by one, something new was revealed, a new way to hold him close to her with a contented sigh, a new tone to her voice to speak to different parts of him and make sure she got what she wanted, as if she knew all the secret codes and passwords he didn't even know he had, showing him that there was a lot to learn about himself too; besides getting to know her, he was getting to know the man he could be beside her.

"I can't believe you're here," she whispered into the darkness that night after the rain, just thinking aloud, maybe convinced he was asleep, her fingers gripping at him with the strength of her incredulity.

"You better get used to it," he smiled, kissing her forehead and feeling her melt into him, another layer shed, the glass shattering on the floor.

He found himself in awe at the smallest things, the different cadences to her voice depending on what she was talking about, the way he would catch her gazing at him sometimes. The little routines they started to create together, the infamous trips to the grocery store, him cooking and teaching her how to make simple meals, watching it as she paid no attention to the instructions, undecided as to whether he was annoyed by it or not until she did something that rendered everything else pointless, like hugging him from behind and resting her head on his back, clenching her arms around his waist in a silent gesture that told him she was glad he was there, that she cherished his presence.

The little inside jokes that emerged as the weeks passed, only making sense in the context of their exclusive little world, the way his hand fit perfectly to the bend of her waist as it rested there through the night, the bantering that came from intimacy, the little fights that involved no real resentment and warranted punishments that seemed more like rewards, how movies would play, forgotten, because they were so lost in one another, how conversations would go on for hours like they hadn't known each other for a decade. The way he watched her feeling more and more at home with him there, like he really lived there, like he really belonged there.

"I was thinking," he said one evening right after eating dinner as they sat on the couch, tangled in each other, absentmindedly watching TV. "Maybe I should take you on a real date sometime."

She turned her head towards him, very serious. "You trying to get into my pants?"

All of a sudden, being together at home was now second nature to Elliot and Olivia, just as it had always been in the squadroom. They already knew each other's habits and personalities going in, so now they only needed to learn how their dynamic adapted to a different setting, how everything they already knew about each other applied to those versions of them wearing sweatshirts, with messy hair, no make-up, unshaven, walking barefoot and making grocery lists, looking for misplaced keys and receiving takeout. It was a natural adaptation, and as usual, they were able to communicate without words, moving at the same speed, coordinating even as they learned how to navigate this new life together, leveraging favorite foods, mood tendencies and world views while memorizing taste in music, childhood stories, favorite sleeping positions.

Elliot took such pride in making her happy. Every smile was just the fuel he needed to keep working on it, chasing the next reward, aiming at the wrinkle on her nose when she laughed, the warmth that filled his heart when he knew he was the cause for it. He could barely remember when sex used to be about taking what he needed, now it was all about giving her what she wanted, making her feel good, finding new ways to do it, uncovering the roadmap to her body, cataloguing every kind of touch she liked, disliked, went nuts from. He quickly learned her timing, the stimuli she needed to go over the edge, so he could almost control when and how she would come, and how many times, and she would mostly let him, just enjoying the ride. Except when she took control – that was a whole different story.

That was when she would reveal that other side of her, the fierceness he'd already seen at work, the decisiveness with which she ran her life and with which she easily ran him, making him feel things he'd never felt before, getting him hooked on the softness of her skin, the tenderness of her touch, the ability of her ministrations, breathing more life into him than he knew was possible, her power over him and his love for her growing by the minute in large increments.

Something unrelated started to nag at him after a while, though. Elliot was still adjusting to not being married anymore, but he had pretty much moved into Olivia's place, and because they weren't back at work yet, it all felt temporary, detached, as if they were living in a parallel reality, in which he didn't need to think about the practical arrangements he would need to make now. They were focused on living in the moment, and the moment was incredible, but he felt guilty whenever he thought about his kids, left on the outside of that private world.

He had gone to the house a couple times to see Eli, Dickie and Lizzie, had managed to schedule a lunch with Maureen and Kathleen once and even been able to set a Sunday dinner with everyone. Spending time with his children reminded him that there were papers to sign, things to decide and that he needed some kind of definition in terms of a frequency to see his children. He noticed the difference in Eli's growth between visits, and it killed him that he wasn't as present in their lives as before, absent as the job already made him by default.

Olivia was supportive, encouraging him to see them, call them, but he knew he needed to define some sort of stability in his life in order to include his children in it and make sure they included _him_ in theirs. He also knew that doing so would involve ending this time off of sorts they were taking, and while he knew there was a very good reason for their leave of absence, they had turned it into such a happy time as they began this new relationship that it almost made him feel guilty for not being back at work yet, for not yet having found a place of his own, for not having defined a new routine with his kids.

He'd felt that guilt since the first time he'd gone out to Queens to eat dinner at the house, but he'd found relief when he'd come back to Olivia's place and figured it still felt like home too, when he'd found her asleep on her side of that bed that had previously been entirely hers, his place next to her still there, waiting for him. He'd felt absolution when he had stripped down to his boxers and joined her, making a point to wake her up only slightly to let her know he was there, with her, enveloping her in his body the way he already knew she liked to be cuddled, her sleepy voice barely putting the words together to ask him how the kids were.

But one night, the guilt had already eaten away at him too much to be ignored. "Liv?" he started, lying in bed, wondering if she noticed the strain in the muscles underneath her as she had just snuggled into the perfect position to rest against his chest. "I uh… I wanted to talk to you about something."

Elliot noticed her tense up immediately, and regretted his hesitant tone; he didn't mean to scare her. He hoped he wouldn't scare her.

"Is everything all right?" she asked cautiously, like someone who's not sure they really want an answer.

"Yes, everything's fine," he rushed to clarify. "I just… It's just that I… I should start looking for a place."

Olivia sighed loudly, her weight gradually sinking back into him, like she had briefly not trusted him to sustain it, as though they were adrift and she was momentarily forced to fend for herself at sea without anything to help her stay afloat. A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment, but she relaxed, little by little, clearly relieved, obviously disappointed.

"Yeah, I know," she said softly, looking away, as though trying to sound more aloof than she felt, and he could almost see the thoughts rushing in her head as she ran through a catalogue of scenarios, trying to figure out what she had done to finally burst their little honeymoon/vacation bubble, shatter their little imaginary world, make him want to go back to the real reality.

"I'd stay here like this forever," he added, pulling away to make sure she would lift her head to look at him, read it in his eyes. "I just… I just need a place my children can go to, and stay at."

Relief; she didn't even try to conceal it this time as it washed over her. "Of course," she shook her head quickly, an apology, she hadn't thought of that.

And then, like magic, the awkwardness that had hovered in the air for those quick moments just vanished, like fog making way for the brightest sunshine. Olivia smiled, lifted herself up on her elbow and kissed him.

"I'll help you look," she promised, sinking back into his chest, taking an unceremonious whiff at his neck, a tell he already knew by now as something she did to ground herself to him, to the present moment.

"I think you should," he replied, playful. "You need to like it, 'cause you'll be staying there a lot."

He noticed it, the trail of goosebumps left by the chill up her spine when he said stuff like that, hinting at the future, their future, together. It made him cautious initially, made him measure his words, trying not to scare her off; now, he almost made a point to do it, to really say those things, because she no longer shut down or pulled away, now she embraced the chills and smiled wholeheartedly, her cheeks blushed, her eyes overflowing with joy. She was still scared, but she felt safe now, as if she were riding a rollercoaster, aware of the existing danger of falling but confident enough to scream with her hands in the air because she knew she wouldn't.

So now he liked to say those things, to give her that thrill, to show her how real this was, to show himself. To remind them both what he knew deep in his heart: that for them, together, anything was possible.

* * *

Let go. Those two words, playing in her head like a mantra, slowing her heartbeat, evening her breathing. Letting go of everything else. Easy as that.

Letting go made her heart warmer, her body more relaxed, the sentences shorter in her head, it removed the over from thinking. It was so powerful, and yet, so easily forgotten.

Letting go made the dreams go away. Her subconscious could no longer bring those hurtful memories to the present once she had labeled them as past, gone. Letting go calmed her anxiety, silenced its screaming about the horrors future could bring, because letting go of the past and the future opened her up to the present, and the present was so broad, so extensive, it was all-encompassing. Once allowed, the present took everything, leaving no room for the past and the future.

That was the power of letting go, this knowledge that none of the pain she had ever endured was happening in the present, and even when she experienced pain in the present, it was never as hurtful as imagined pain, or remembered pain. Maybe it wasn't even as bad as living in fear of experiencing pain again.

So letting go was the best she could do for herself. It was an act of self-love, to choose not to let something hurt her anymore. The past had made her who she was, her pain had molded her, and none of which she had ever gone through had been easily overcome, but she knew now that, during recovery, there came a moment, it always did, when moving on depended solely on that choice: letting go.

It wasn't easily done. Pain could, at times, seem like her only friend, like her identity, like herself, and for someone who had been alone her whole life, she couldn't let go of herself, of her identity, of her only friend. But in reality, pain was her captor, her torturer, and it only had the power she invested in it, the conviction with which she had believed for so long that her captor was her keeper, her insurance of survival, like a twisted, self-inflicted version of Stockholm Syndrome.

Pain never went quietly. It fought, kicked, screamed, reasoned, threatened. It tried to tell her that letting go of it would make her feel empty, but emptiness itself was forgotten when she experienced the relief of letting go of the past and the future. Those memories and fears were too heavy to carry along any further. It was a relief to find out that memories and fears weren't keeping her alive, that she could be alive despite anything, without anything, that she could just be.

Upon such an understanding, time lost its weight. If only the present matters, pain that happened yesterday or a lifetime ago have the same weight and are just as easily dropped in the name of staying in the present. Being present in the present. Letting go of everything else.

She knew it was impossible to be present in the present the whole time. The past and the future could even be useful, and they were instruments needed every single day, the knowledge from previous experiences leveraged whenever it was relevant, the decisions that still needed to be made even though they aimed at hypothetical futures, even knowing future could not be controlled or predicted, no matter how much planning went into it.

What she had learned about letting go wasn't that the past should be forgotten and the future should be ignored, not that memories didn't matter or that consequences didn't exist. What she had learned about letting go was that no amount of dwelling into painful memories could prevent the occurrence of future painful moments, and that trying to come up with a plan to avoid future pain by hurting from past pain only resulted in bringing pain into the present, chosen pain, pain that was not the antidote or the vaccine to any other pain. There was no such thing as making antibodies for pain.

There was, however, letting go. There was seeing pain for what it was, no longer mistaking it for herself, for a friend, for self-love or self-defense. Self-love was choosing not to hurt if that was possible, and it usually was. It was surprising to find out that most of the pain she felt was not happening in the present, that if she took a moment to think about it, to identify the source of her suffering, it was rarely something she was experiencing that very second, even as the tears fell profusely.

Self-love was letting go of every label she had ever given herself, every memory she had elected as a little piece of who she was, every fear that had dictated how she lived her life. Self-love was finding out none of that was who she was. Self-love was knowing that she was enough, even if stripped of all knowledge, all memories and all fears, knowing that she wasn't defined by her job, by her family, by who she loved, who loved her. Who didn't. That she didn't _need _to be defined, that she didn't need to be anybody, anything. She just needed to be. Letting go of herself, or what she had always judged to be herself, was the greatest proof of self-love she could have ever given or received.

If she was enough and nothing defined her, then it didn't matter that she had just been rescued from a kidnapping, that she had been sexually assaulted a year ago, that she'd had no family but a half-brother she never saw and a mother who had drunk herself to death right before her eyes while she had tried to take care of them both. It didn't matter that her father was a rapist who had hurt and ultimately killed her mother. It didn't matter that she had fallen in love with her married partner, pined for him in silence for years and slept alone after watching him go home to his family every night for thousands of nights.

If none of that was who she was, suddenly being herself was a lot less heavy. It opened her up to the novelties that only the present could bring: how she was there now, safe and comfortable, having turned out alright despite who her parents had been and survived the most difficult situations she'd ever been through, how her partner was no longer married, how now she knew he loved her back, how he'd made it a habit to spoon her into sleep every night. By letting go of everything that didn't define her, she found out what that really felt like, her presence, her full dedication to herself, to every moment of her life, and it filled her completely. It left no room for fear of loss, because she knew now that, if she was there for herself, loss didn't equal emptiness, and pain didn't equal death.

By knowing she could live despite anything, she realized she didn't need anything. By knowing she could live without him, she finally allowed herself to live with him. Finally set free from the memory of pain and the fear of loss, she was able to accept each moment as it came, together or apart, dedicating her whole attention to it, her whole presence.


	28. Epilogue

_**A/N: Finally finishing this story, the longest piece of fiction I've ever written, undoubtedly the most complex, riddled with insights from my own personal growth which is what grants it such a special place in my heart. Writing this story was an experience, that extended for over a year, and while it was painful at times to get the words out (or not being able to), I feel like the story really needed the time it took to come to life in order to mature enough and become what it did. I'm really happy with the result and would really like to thank everyone that came along with me in this ride, as well as anyone who ever reads it afterwards. Writing this story meant a lot to me, and it means the world that anyone would be interested in reading it, and that anyone would come to like it. Please do let me know your final thoughts, I'll be eagerly waiting for reviews as I finally sit back feeling accomplished! **_

**_Breaking Point finally comes to a close, and this epilogue could be the spark to a possible sequel, as well as put the lid on everything that happened here. Time will tell... Thanks for reading!_**

* * *

EPILOGUE

"I'm sure you all have better things to do on a Friday night, but how about a drink to celebrate what's looking like a weekend off ahead of us?" said Munch, standing up and putting his suit jacket on.

"Oh man, shut up!" Fin whined in protest, his hands on his face. "Don't say that, you're gonna jinx it!"

Olivia chuckled, exchanging a quick but meaningful look with Elliot across their desks.

"Then I guess we better get going before the phone rings," she said, standing up as well, followed by Elliot.

"One drink, in case the phone rings anyway," he corrected cautiously, exchanging another look with her as they unspokenly shared the memory of the last time they had decided to go for a drink on a slow night, the corners of his mouth turning up in a hint of a smile as he remembered how that had been the first time he'd kissed her – he looked away when she blushed, smiling knowingly.

As Olivia put on her jacket, she noticed the captain standing by his office's door frame, and as their eyes locked, he gave her a barely perceptible nod that said he wanted a word with her – a discrete one.

"I'll be just a minute," she warned, ignoring Elliot's surprised frown and walking towards Cragen's office. "Captain?" she called lightly at the door as he'd already walked back in towards his desk.

"Calling it a night?" Cragen smiled, and the calculated lightness of his tone raised a flag in Olivia's mind.

"We're going out for a drink," she cautiously walked in towards him since he hadn't instructed her to close the door. "I know you don't drink, but would you like to come along?"

"Rain check?" was his reply, eyes squinting, as Olivia had predicted. He sighed, and as he walked slowly towards her, with his hands in his pockets, she felt that apprehension growing and her heart racing.

"What's wrong?" she couldn't help but ask, and his hesitation made her impatient. "What is it, Captain?"

"I just…" he started, looking down as if gathering courage. "I've been holding on to this," he said, taking one of his hands out of his pocket and revealing that it held a small evidence bag with what looked like an SD card inside. "Elliot found it in Downey's freezer, but forensics wasn't done with it until after... everything."

Olivia shuddered at the mention of that name, a name that hadn't visited her thoughts in so long. "His freezer?" she repeated, reluctantly receiving the card from the captain's hand, aware that looking at it wasn't going to help her understand anything.

"He had all his pictures and journals in plain view, the apartment was a mess, it didn't look like a place he brought any visitors to, and yet, he took the trouble to hide _this _well."

"What's in it?" Olivia asked restlessly, nodding her comprehension of the importance the captain seemed to want her so badly to know the piece of evidence held while purposefully expressing her annoyance at the suspense.

"You," he said simply, returning his hand to his pocket with a sigh. "Your whole life. Where you studied, worked, every place you ever lived in, your boyfriends, friends, everything about your mother…"

"And?" She knew just her bio wouldn't be enough for him to act like this – but she wasn't prepared for what he added next either.

"Your father."

"My…" she mumbled. "What do you mean, my father? I don't…"

"The man you found out was your father. It seems Downey did his own digging. He gathered detailed information on who the guy was, where he'd been and how he crossed paths with your mother, as well as other women he might have raped…" he took a long pause before finishing, his voice an octave lower, almost as though he hoped she wouldn't hear that part. "And other children he might have fathered."

_Other children_. The words echoed in her head as their meaning sunk in, the weight of everything they entailed suddenly crushing her, physically, shortening her breath. Olivia took another look at the SD card, turning it around as if there was something she could see in it to help her understand, help her mind grasp what that little piece of plastic contained, what its contents could mean. Was Eric ever going to disclose that information to her? She had finally been able to silence his words in her head, and yet she was standing right before a whole new world of questions she would never be able to ask him.

"I figured this wasn't relevant to our case," Cragen added, his voice back to that soft, careful tone. "You can keep it if you want… Or I can hold on to it for you. I thought long and hard about this, if I should even tell you about it… I think it's probably best not to dwell into it any further, but you have the right to choose what it is you want to do about it."

_When are you gonna stop torturing yourself with what that guy said to you?_ She remembered Elliot asking her that question, it had become a mantra in her head that played whenever Eric threatened to come to mind with his hurtful words and actions, she just hadn't been aware that there was anything new he might come to haunt her with. As if conjured by her thoughts, claimed by her anxiety, Elliot appeared then with a knock on the glass.

"Aren't you guys coming?" he said, cheerful at first, then stiffening when he took in the mood in the room, his smile fading instantly. "Is everything all right?" He detected the SD card he'd found in Downey's apartment in Olivia's hand, then looked up at her.

She stared at him blankly for a second, a fine coat of tears welling up in her eyes, not enough to roll down, only to stress the panic she already knew he had easily identified as she felt once again pulled towards a dark place, maybe even darker than the one Eric had last left her at. As Elliot stood there, at the door, he was the very threshold between that place and a lighter place, a happier one, a real place where she could be with him, in the present, where she'd been living, blissfully ignorant to whatever lay beyond its boundaries.

"Yeah, everything's fine," she swallowed, then smiled, turning to Cragen to hand him back the card, her eyes and the almost imperceptible break in her voice conveying the importance of the choice she was making, and in that moment they connected, from one addict to another, because Olivia knew that, very much like the captain's struggle to keep himself from drinking day after day, choosing to let go of the past was something she was going to have to deal with forever, one day at a time. "Thank you, Captain."

He just nodded, in acceptance and understanding, wrapping his hand around the small plastic bag and making it disappear from view into his pocket like it had never existed, allowing Olivia to rush out of the room; Elliot knew to simply walk with her until they were as far away as possible from whatever lay inside that small plastic square he wished he had never found or had been able to destroy just for making her feel whatever it was that was making her look like that, all color removed from her face, the glint of tears that he hadn't seen in her eyes for weeks now.

"What was that all about?" he asked as soon as they were outside the building.

Her only reply was to interlock her fingers with his and squeeze tight, her eyes staring into nothing in particular, trying to catch her breath, the cold wind playing with her hair as a couple of tears finally rolled down her cheeks. Elliot wanted to wipe them off, but he just stood there, waiting, watching her as the color came back to her features, as the heaving of her chest subsided, as her breaths became less ragged. Eventually, she looked up at him, letting out a relieved sigh that brought out a smile. With her free hand, she wiped the tears herself.

"Tell me what you need," he pleaded, trying to control his own anxiety.

Smiling, she shook her head and squeezed his hand again. "Nothing else," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

Elliot yanked her by the hand into his chest, and for a moment, he didn't give a damn that they were just outside the precinct, that someone could see them. He just pressed her against him, feeling her arms squeeze him back as she buried her face into the crook of his neck, focused on breathing him in to find her bearings, reset her balance.

Munch and Fin were just walking out then and, upon seeing him and Olivia, they hesitated, then exchanged a look; Munch then turned to Elliot and, with a gesture, said goodbye for the night, nudging Fin into walking off with him, probably to the bar for that drink they'd all decided to go out together for in what seemed now like a completely different night, a long time ago, several miles away.

Olivia pulled away from him, just enough to look at his face like someone looking for a direction, some kind of instruction on what they're supposed to do next.

"Let's go home," he replied to the question she never asked, and he could tell by her grateful smile that it was the right answer.

"Please," she mouthed, barely audibly.

She started to stride away, leaving her hand behind for him, which he grabbed, picking up the pace until they were walking side by side.


End file.
